Marching on Antietam
by Celia Stanton
Summary: In a post-Eclipse O.Z., they were a long way from happily ever after.
1. Begin Again

_Author's Notes/Thanks: Welcome to the Really Big Fic of Doom. Get comfy. It's gonna get a little bumpy in here. :)_

_First, HUGE squishing hugs to Alamo Girl for being the original sounding board and beta for this monstrosity. Even as she's dealing with her own life, loves ("Boomtown", anyone?) and WIP (the ever fabulous "Home"), she always makes time for Charlie the muse and his crazy plot bunnies. I owe you so much, kiddo. Thank you isn't sufficient, but after 40,000 plus words so far (and we're not even at the end!), it's all I've got._

_Almond balls and Goren/Eames style love to Meredith Paris as well, who is responsible for much of the content in later chapters. Your encouragement and patience (as well as your ability to stay up with me well past midnight) means the world to me._

_To Er Bear, as well as everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited and alerted my other stories—thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support and encouragement. _

_This story includes a character (Doc), as well as relationships (Doc/Jeb and hints of Cain/DG) that I first introduced in "Scrutiny". It might be worth your time to read that piece first, though I don't see it as a prerequisite. Also, as a note of content, the story does start off with Doc's point of view, but it shifts to our Big Damn Heroes in later chapters._

_All medical and weapon information contained in this story is factual. For this chapter, stethoscopes were invented in the early 1800s, and blood pressure cuffs in the late 1800s. Both were in fairly widespread use before World War I, when the O.Z. and the O.S. allegedly split. _

_This story is rated a strong PG-13 (maybe R, depending on your sensitivities) for physical character assault and language. Disturbing content will be noted at the beginning of each chapter. _

_As always, the characters and situations you recognize do not belong to me. This story is meant solely for entertainment purposes. No infringement is intended._

_And again, as always, this story is for Beebo, who will never read this, but who swears she loves it anyway._

_Feedback is good for your health. Really. I found that on the JAMA site while researching for this piece._

* * *

**Chapter One: Begin Again**

If this was victory, she didn't want to know what defeat looked like.

They should have been dancing drunkenly around the clearing, carefree laughter sparkling alongside the flames of their bonfires. Mead and feast should have flowed freely until the suns replaced the moons in the sky.

They were a long way off from happily ever after.

The medic stood beside the trunk of her long held lookout spot, watching as her brethren dug innumerable graves. She heard strong, stoic men, some she'd known since she was small, as they wept for the friends and family they'd lost. She winced and finally turned away from the gathering when she heard the cries of soldiers, both for her side and against, as her fellow physicians tended to their wounds in her tent.

She sighed heavily and looked toward the horizon. It was still too dark to see either the Black Tower or Central City clearly, and she felt like she couldn't remember what either looked like. The smoke from the battle had obscured their view for most of the past day—_or was it two?—_and she was staring into black nothingness, a gaping hole where her past, present and future lay.

She heard the rustle of leaves behind her, but did not turn back to the clearing. Familiar footsteps strode behind her, and she felt the air shift beside her as Jeb stopped and wordlessly offered her a canteen. She shook her head, eyes still scanning among the long line of people spread to the edges of their camp. Resistance fighters were intermixed with Longcoat prisoners due for evaluation before being confined to their makeshift brig, and citizens from nearby villages and towns, many who had not had access to decent medical care, had straggled in to wait among the soldiers.

Now that the coast was clear, the woodwork was expunging and expelling all those who had been relegated to its confines. Mothers held sons to their chests, husbands supported faltering wives, sisters pressed bloody cloths to their siblings' injured heads.

Changing her mind, the medic reached for Jeb's canteen and took a long sip of what she knew wasn't water. He smiled and rubbed her back, dropping his hand when she wiped her mouth and handed the flask back to him.

She heaved a deep sigh and leaned against the tree, idly rubbing at her temples.

"That was a tough one to lose," he said after taking a swig from the canteen and dropping it to the forest floor.

"They're all tough," she replied automatically, pulling her hair from its unruly knot.

"Kids are the worst." His fingers found her hair, and he ran them soothingly through the waves before she stepped away, inexplicably chilled by the comfort he offered. She did not speak for a long moment, her head a confusing mass of conflicting, indefinable emotions, ones she could not articulate to herself, let alone to another person.

She centered herself against the tree trunk, tilting her head back as she tried to find solid ground. As she did when flustered, she looked to her surroundings to tell her their tales. She was always better at observation than she was at interpretation.

She noticed her fellow Resistance fighters lighting more lanterns and torches as they worked through the dark to bring their camp under control. It was as though they intuitively understood that it would take small victories, not big ones like their success at the Black Tower, to reclaim their homeland. After days of conquering, of battles, of losses, if their base was safe and secure, it would reaffirm their commitment to each other, and to themselves.

As her eyes scanned across the clearing, she saw Wyatt Cain standing guard outside one of their housing tents, though he looked to be more in need of a bedroll than any other man in the clearing. His hand was protectively on his hip, near his firearm, and the medic wondered if she'd get shot for just asking how his princess was doing, let alone disturbing her.

She turned back to Jeb, who had watched her as her gaze settled on his father, and had turned his own eyes to his toes, which were disturbing the dirt beneath his boots. "Have you tried to talk to him?" she asked, pulling her hair back.

He looked confused for a moment, and crossed his arms, as though closing his stance physically would get her to drop the line of questioning. When she merely raised her eyebrows in request for a response, he sighed and shook his head. "There's nothing to say."

"Seems to me there's a hell of a lot to say. Eight annuals' worth of something to say."

"What would you have me do, Doc? Waltz up to him and say, 'Hey, Dad, here's everything you missed out on. Mother was beaten to death by the man you let live, I had to watch countless friends see their loved ones hanging like carcasses in Central City Square, and oh, yeah, I had nightmares for annuals about the day you were locked in that suit. Now I'll have annuals more just knowing you were there all that time and I did nothing to help you'?"

"Is that what you want to say to him?" He glared at her. _That's becoming more of a habit, _she thought idly.

"I'm not your patient," he spat before stepping away from her. "Don't examine me."

"I'm sorry," she offered, ignoring the sting and reaching for his hand, the knots of tension in her stomach doubling as he moved further away from her. "You got something today that I would give almost anything for—a father, back from the dead."

"That man is not my father."

The comment surprised her almost as much as it seemed to surprise him. "What?"

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily through his nose. "He's…changed."

"Eight annuals in an Iron Maiden will harden anybody."

Jeb shook his head. "That's not it at all, Doc. He's open now. You saw how he was with DG. He _hugged_ her, for Ozma's sake. I don't remember him ever hugging me before yesterday. I knew he loved me, and my mother, but he never showed it that way. He was a Tin Man. Showing weakness could get him killed." He turned to face her completely, and for the first time, she saw the vulnerable, scared little boy who'd seen his father beaten and taken away from him. "You and the rescue party found me after four days. Four _days_ and I felt like a completely different person. I can't imagine how he feels."

She looked back over at the elder Cain, at how rigidly he stood at attention, retreating into the protector role he seemed to wear like a second skin. She could tell by the way he stood, one hand on his hip, that he was trying to seem imposing, counteracting the nervousness his shifting eyes belied. He wasn't comfortable in the surrounding paradox, where his son was in charge, where he was relegated to no more than a watchdog for a princess he'd known less than a week.

And yet…

The medic tilted her head and watched Cain more closely as the Tin Man looked over his shoulder and into the tent where DG was resting. Even in the feeble torchlight, she again saw how his icy eyes melted slightly as he looked at the brunette, as though seeing the fact that she slept peacefully gave him a second wind and solidified that his presence, and his presence alone, was the thing keeping the nightmares from plaguing her tonight.

"I think he's just as confused as you are," the blonde doctor said after watching Cain return to his post, shoulders squared in determination. "And I think he's waiting on you to make the first move."

Jeb watched her carefully, confusion etching his eyes just as admiration lined his father's. "He's never been scared of anything, least of all me."

"Like you said, he's different now. He realizes you've grown up without him. He has to mourn the child he lost, along with celebrate the son he's found."

The commander's eyes scanned between his medic and his father before settling on the woman beside him. "How do you know all this?"

She smiled. "I just pay attention."

A scream broke the early morning, and Jeb and the medic were down the hill before they'd realized their feet were even moving. Cain had already entered DG's tent, and when the Resistance fighters joined him, he was crouched next to her, and the brunette was sobbing into his chest.

DG was shaking uncontrollably, and was deathly pale.

"She's in trouble," the princess managed, her words mostly muffled by Cain's body. "I need to get to her."

Cain nodded, his cheek brushing against the side of DG's head with the movement. To his son, he said, "We need some horses."

"Of course," Jeb replied, moving quickly past the medic and out into the clearing. The blonde could hear him barking orders to his underlings, and she carefully approached the trembling brunette as Jeb's voice faded to the background.

Cain stiffened at her advance, and the doctor held out a hand in silent reassurance, softening her eyes to show him her approach was only to check on the princess. Her face remained passive, and she relaxed her body so as to remind him she was unthreatening. She watched as DG turned out of Cain's protective embrace to face her, but noted that the princess's hands remained on the Tin Man's knees as he squatted behind her.

"Do you need anything?" the medic asked softly, not surprised when the brunette shook her head.

"I just need to go," DG replied, standing with Cain's help, his hands at her elbows, gripping tightly to keep her upright.

The doctor was slightly pleased to note some color had returned to DG's cheeks, though the medic could see the jugular vein distending in her neck, bulging as a result of the princess's still labored breathing. She took a step closer while DG righted her shirt and jacket, and tried again. "Are you sure I can't do anything for you?"

"Quite sure," the princess replied, straightening her back as though preparing to go to battle. Out of the corner of her eye, the medic caught the proud hilt to Cain's face, even though it only flashed briefly among the concern etched in his features.

"All right," the doctor acquiesced, turning to lead them from the tent.

Jeb stood outside, holding the reins to two of their best thoroughbreds, while a scout and one of the sergeants sat astride other horses, ready to escort the travelers.

Cain nodded his thanks to his son before escorting DG to her saddle. The medic stepped back, giving them space and privacy, and did not hear what DG asked of her Tin Man, but saw him squeeze her hand gently and reassuringly before lifting her carefully into the saddle.

The blonde was able to keep her face neutral when Cain slid behind the brunette, enveloping her hands, along with the horse's reins, in his larger, protective grasp.

Jeb's surprise was more obvious, and he looked between his father and the medic, searching for some kind of explanation. He shifted slightly toward the center of the camp, and the doctor thought that perhaps he'd stride angrily away, confused and disheartened by the scene in front of them.

He surprised the medic when he instead stepped toward his father and took the reins of the horse intended for the elder Cain. To his sergeant, he said, "I'll go with them. You stay here and continue to process the prisoners."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant replied, dismounting and leading the horse back to the staging area.

The doctor stood aside as the scout led the party out of camp, and had to smile as DG winced uncomfortably as Cain brought the steed to a gallop. Jeb looked over his shoulder at the medic before he left, and she simply waved before turning back to her duties.

* * *

The scout returned less than two hours later, panting so hard he could barely speak.

The suns had risen and lightened the horizon, and it was in the morning sunlight that the true destruction of the surrounding lands could be witnessed.

If she thought the famine and droughts of her lifetime were bad, she hadn't seen anything yet.

The ground was singed and blackened, and looked as though Death itself had floated overhead and colored it with a cursed finger. Smoke still billowed from the main battleground, and the smoldering brush fires twisted into the sky, mixing together like forming storm clouds.

The medic was in her tent, stitching up a particularly nasty laceration, when the scout plowed through the doorway, so off-kilter in his rushing that he caught the upper part of his thigh on her desk.

She turned around and eyed the young man carefully, putting her hands on her hips and silently demanding to know what was so pressingly important that he'd interrupt her while she was with a patient.

After catching his breath and pressing a hand to his injured leg, the scout reported, "Captain Cain has requested your presence at the Black Tower."

The blonde looked at him confusedly. "Excuse me?"

"He says to bring your kit, and get there on the double."

Momentarily speechless, the medic turned back to her patient and finished stitching the injury above his eye. When he was declared fit for transport, she pumped water over her hands to rid herself of his blood, and then turned back to the anxious, waiting scout. "He asked for me specifically?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Jeb knew they were shorthanded, both in personnel and in supplies. Requests had been sent to other outposts, but reinforcements were days away. She was needed here, at the camp; he'd told her as much on the day of the final battle.

But if he was asking for her specifically, something must be wrong.

She dried her hands on her protective coat and grabbed her saddle bag, lining it with as much as the canvas could hold. Then she followed the scout to his waiting horse, and mounted it swiftly, her pack bouncing against the edge of the saddle.

When she approached the Black Tower, she could see the rubble and still smell the dank, sour taste of gunpowder and lead. She had to turn her head and roll her tongue to try and rid herself of the heavy tang in her mouth.

She saw Jeb and Wyatt Cain standing among the ruins of the entrance to the tower, and dismounted as quickly as she could without losing her footing. After untying her pack, she approached the father and son, immediately noting how the elder Cain stood tightly, ramrod straight, and how his eyes continually went to a balcony high above where they stood.

"Sorry for the urgency, but DG needs your help," Jeb said after a moment, when he realized his father would not speak.

"It's all right," the medic replied, eyeing both men carefully. "Where is she?"

Cain turned wordlessly and effortlessly climbed over the rubble, leaving Jeb to extend the doctor a hand and assist her as they traversed the rocks.

By the time the Resistance fighters made their way to the entrance, Cain was already halfway up the long stairway, the fluttering of the end of his duster the only indication of his presence.

The medic was out of breath when they reached the top of the tower, and as they entered a darkly ornate room, she could see doors leading to the balcony Cain had been so interested in earlier. He strode determinedly to a set of double doors opposite the balcony exit, rested his head against them momentarily, and then knocked, pausing for an instant before pushing the frame open and stepping inside. His profile softened as he entered, and he was unable to hide the subtle movement from the medic as she watched closely.

Jeb cleared his throat and she was embarrassed to note that her scrutiny of the Tin Man denied her notice of the other parties in the room. A grey-haired woman sat tiredly on a leather couch, and an older blonde-haired man stood guard at her elbow, his hand on her shoulder. He tightened his grip to alert the woman to the medic's presence, and she looked up, straightening her back just as DG had done at the Resistance camp. The older woman's movements were eerily similar to the brunette's, and the doctor looked to Jeb for confirmation.

"Your Highness," Jeb said, placing a hand at the small of the medic's back and urging her forward, "this is the medic I told you about."

_Highness._ The long-forgotten word rattled around in the doctor's head for a moment, even as she stepped forward, shifting her pack to her left hand and curtseying automatically.

"Thank you for coming, Doctor," the grey-haired woman said, rising from her chair, her strong, regal air permeating the environment.

"Of course, Your Majesty," the doctor replied, waiting for the woman to approach her. When she did, it took much of the blonde's efforts not to order her back to her seat. It was obvious the older woman needed rest; the lines around her eyes were deep with exhaustion and regret.

"My daughter is ill," the Queen continued, her lavender eyes dropping to the marble floor as she lowered her voice. "The Viewer with her needs further assistance, and you came highly recommended."

"I'll do everything in my power to help her, Your Grace."

"Thank you." The Queen stepped aside and Jeb strode forward, hand instinctively finding the small of the medic's back to usher her to the room where Cain had entered earlier.

As the Resistance leader knocked and waited to be granted entrance, the medic opened her bag, berating herself for not insisting on examining DG back at the camp. She'd known the princess needed more rest before traveling, and the medic had let her walk right out of the tent with nothing but a cursory, half-assed assessment.

Cain appeared in the doorway and nodded at his son and the medic, stepping aside to allow them into the room. It took the doctor a moment to realize DG was sitting in a chair at the bedside, not in it as a patient should have been. She made to order the princess to lie down, before realizing the bed was already occupied by another dark-haired woman.

The doctor entered the bedchamber, handing her bag to Jeb and pulling out her stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, preparing to obtain her patient's vitals.

The blonde offered a small smile at DG, who returned it tiredly and with half an effort. Cain situated himself behind the princess, his hand finding its way to the back of her neck, rubbing circles so slowly and lightly that the doctor doubted either of them realized he was offering such comforting ministrations.

The medic pulled her eyes from the two and focused on her patient. She walked forward, inching up the bedside, taking in the woman's pallor and shallow breathing. A Viewer stood on the opposite side of the bed, barely able to stand without support from the Headcase standing next to him.

_Quite a motley crew,_ the medic thought to herself, before looking more closely at the woman in the bed.

What she saw made her take a step backward and look at Jeb, her dark eyes widening. She dropped her stethoscope to the floor, the clattering of the metal shattering the tenuous quiet in the room.

"Doc…" Jeb started, reaching for her.

_Damn it, why are my hands shaking?_ "What's going on?" Her voice was low and deadly.

DG was out of her chair so quickly that the medic wondered for a moment if she'd somehow flown across the room. "It's okay. That's my sister."

"Your _sister_?"

"Yes." Cain stepped to stand behind the brunette again, and placed a hand on her shoulder. His upright posture was meant to be imposing, silently warning the medic not to upset the princess.

The medic was too stunned to care. "The Sorceress is your sister." She turned to Jeb, tone and eyes scornfully accusing. "You told me the Witch was dead."

"She is," DG replied plaintively. "She possessed my sister, and we defeated her last night. But she's sick, and Raw," she motioned to the Viewer, "is too tired to continue. We need your help."

"You want me to help the woman who killed my father." The blonde's eyes remained on Jeb's face, pulse racing at the guilt she saw written there.

"Doc," he tried, "you have an oath to uphold."

She sucked in a deeply betrayed breath at that, and hurriedly faced DG, curtseying awkwardly. "Your Highness, I'm afraid I cannot help you. Good day."

She turned and fled the room, damning the pleas that followed her.

End Chapter One


	2. Necessary Evils

_Author's Notes: Thanks and hugs again go to Alamo Girl and Meredith Paris, whose suggestions and encouragement are what keep me from slapping a frustrated palm to my face every time I think about writing._

_Again, the medical information contained herein is factual. Thank God for Google._

_Disclaimer in chapter one._

* * *

**Chapter Two: Necessary Evils**

"Damn it, Doc, would you just _listen_ to me?"

"Jeb Cain, I would strongly recommend you leave me alone, unless you want to be walking funny for a week."

His long legs allowed him to catch up with her easily, and he grabbed the reins of her horse before she could even attempt a mount. She whirled on him, eyes blazing with an anger neither of them had ever seen from her before, and he used his free hand to grab her upper arm, partly to stop her from hitting him.

Disbelievingly, she looked down at his harsh grip on her bicep. Her voice was venomous as she spoke lowly. "You unhand me this second before I break your arm."

He did not move, but partially loosened his grip. "_Think _about this," he seethed through gritted teeth. "Do you honestly think I'd let you go anywhere dangerous? Do you think my father would let DG in the same room as the Sorceress?"

He had a point, and she hated him for it. She turned, wrenching her arm from his grasp. Her foot caught halfway in a stirrup as she tried to get away, and she was trapped and tangled again. After a long moment, she gave up and hopped down, her boots swirling grey dust around both of them. "You told me the Witch was dead."

"She is, Doc. I swear it. I swear on my mother's grave."

As she looked over her shoulder at him, she saw that his eyes were wide, open, and honest. He reached hesitantly for her, easing the medic away from the steed and turning her to face him fully, his hand now gentle on her arm. "I don't know all the details. DG hasn't been that forthcoming. All I know is that the Witch lived inside her sister, and she's gone now. Az—" he stumbled over the name that had brought fear and deadly desolation to their lives for so long, "the Azkadellia in that bed is not the woman who killed your father. She needs your help."

She looked over the ruins of the tower for a moment, sighing inwardly. "You could have called any other medic. Why me?"

"I trust you. So does my father, and DG. We knew nobody else would give one hundred percent to helping her. Hell, they'd probably just let her die. You're not like that. You know right and wrong, even if you don't agree with it."

She closed her eyes, her chin touching her chest in acquiescence. "You could have warned me."

"I know." He dropped his hand and gaze, focusing on the wrecked landscape around them. "I'm sorry."

"Two apologies in one day," she said with a half-smirk. "You're getting soft on me, Captain."

"Don't let it get out. I have a reputation to uphold." He shouldered her pack and slid aside, letting her pass back into the tower.

Her stomach remained in knots as she approached the royal chamber again, and embarrassment colored her cheeks as she reentered.

The Viewer was sitting on the couch, and the medic made a mental note to check him for signs of system stress once she was finished examining the Sorceress. Jeb knocked once on the bedroom door, and the two Resistance fighters stepped through again, a sense of déjà vu replacing the tension in the room.

The medic offered an ashamed smile and curtsy at the princesses, the Queen, and the Consort. "Your Majesties, I apologize for my rudeness—"

The Queen waved her words away with the palm of her hand, and it felt as though she'd drawn the words from the blonde's mouth and made them disappear into the air. "It is perfectly understandable, Doctor. We've all had our share of shocks today."

The blonde nodded and approached the bedside again, wishing the rushing blood in her ears would stop and allow her to hear again. She set her bag next to DG's chair and did a quick once-over of her patient. She was white as a ghost, and her body shook with every unsteady breath she took.

The doctor felt DG rise from her chair, and come to stand behind her. Her breaths were broken by half-sobs, and the shaky air tickled the hairs at the back of the blonde's neck. Off-handedly, the medic wondered why Cain hadn't come to stand guard behind his princess, but got her answer when the brunette stepped back, coming to rest just in front of Cain's chest, his hands on her shoulders in a manner similar to what DG had done while the doctor stitched up Cain's bullet wound in the camp earlier.

The medic took a deep breath as she looked to Azkadellia's face, and tried not to step back in instinctive fear as the dark-haired woman opened her eyes.

What the medic saw there—or, more importantly, what she _didn't_ see there—startled her further and sent her heart racing again, beating harder and louder than it ever had before.

This was not the woman who'd sentenced her father to death. This was not the woman whom she'd screamed at from in front of the gallows, just a teenage girl pleading for her father's life. This was not the woman who'd smiled as the noose tightened around Dan Lowry's neck. This was not the woman who cheered when the floor fell from beneath him, and who did not care that at that moment, while she laughed, that his daughter's life had ended too.

This woman was nearing death's door, and she was obviously scared.

The doctor leaned down, placing her stethoscope to Azkadellia's chest. Her heart was palpitating erratically, and her breaths were shallow. She held the bed sheets tightly, but her grip began to falter as she drifted toward unconsciousness.

The medic heard DG's sob as she tried to muffle it behind a balled hand. She heard Cain shift ever closer and murmur encouragingly to her, offering unwavering support and comfort just as the brunette had the previous day.

The blonde found her voice as she replaced her stethoscope around her neck. "Your Highness," she managed, sounding very unlike herself, "I need you to sit up for me."

DG was to her sister's side in a flash and protesting even faster. "She tried that earlier, and she got dizzy."

"I understand," the doctor replied sympathetically, looking between the sisters, "but lying down isn't helping her heart. I need you to sit up and cough."

Now Cain joined the party, disbelief radiating off him in flooding waves. "That's ridiculous."

"Father," Jeb interjected, but the medic shook her head almost undetectably, knowing the young man would see and understand the movement.

"If this is the result of panic or stress, coughing can restore the heart rate to normal," the doctor said, looking down at Azkadellia but feeling every set of eyes searing into the back of her head, burning the curve of her neck. "I want to try that before we have to resort to anything more invasive."

"I can do it," the eldest princess assured them, reaching a hand for her father and Cain. With the men's help she sat up, but placed a hand to her chest in agony as she did so.

"Az!" DG's cry was terrified.

The doctor moved behind her patient—_just another patient,_ she repeated to herself, _it's just another patient—_and clapped a hand to the center of Azkadellia's back, causing the brunette to sputter and cough uncontrollably.

DG knelt unsteadily on the bed, grasping her sister's hand tightly in hers. The medic was momentarily blinded by the white light radiating from the fixed grip. She saw Cain step forward again and rest his hand on DG's hip, holding her in place at her sister's side. The look on his face registered fleetingly in the doctor's mind, one not only of concern, but something akin to hope and pleading, as though he were praying to gods she knew he no longer believed in that someone close to him would not have to know loss or pain again.

Azkadellia's coughing slowed, and the medic rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back, identical to the ones her sister was currently receiving from her protector. "That's it," she murmured, as though speaking to a child. "Now take a deep breath in for me."

The breath the former Sorceress took was shuddering, the effort whitening her face even further. DG looked at the blonde with pleading eyes, silently begging her to stop the perceived torture. The medic shook her head, her own eyes assuring the princess everything she was doing was for the good of her sister, and returned her attention to Azkadellia. "One more deep breath. That's it."

The shaky breaths ceased, and the eldest princess surprised the entire room when she took a deep, cleansing breath, as though she'd just emerged from a tsunami. Her eyes were clearer than they'd been upon the doctor's arrival, and the princess blinked harshly, pulling her hand from her sister's and rubbing her face.

The blonde replaced her stethoscope on the brunette's chest and listened, pleased when she heard the palpitations had slowed. "Very good, Your Highness," she soothed, somewhat unnaturally, reaching behind the woman to prop up some pillows for her comfort. "Just keep breathing." She watched the woman carefully as she leaned back, apprehensive that her paleness had not dissipated, even with concentrated oxygen flow. Azkadellia was also still fighting to stay conscious, looking as though she was ready to fall into a long, deep, dreamless slumber at any moment.

The doctor directed her through a series of simple, quick tests to show muscle condition and fatigue, trying to filter her observations about the other occupants of the room from those of her patient. She knew the few minutes she'd examined Azkadellia had felt like an eternity to her family, evidenced by the relieved sigh DG expelled when the medic replaced her stethoscope around her neck and looked toward the royal family.

"You're going to be fine." She addressed the family briefly before looking directly at her patient. "I believe your body treated this…possession…like a parasite. Now that it's gone, your body is fighting to right itself. Your magical ability," she glanced down at the sisters' rejoined hands, "is fighting with your body's natural ability to regenerate. I think that with rest and some remedies, both herbal and medicinal, we can have you back to full strength in a few weeks."

The doctor had to keep the shock off her face when the former Sorceress reached for her hand, the warmth of her magic tingling and warming the blonde's fingers. "Thank you, Doctor Lowry." There was a pleading sincerity to the simple words, and the medic swallowed the uncertainty in her throat before replying.

"You're quite welcome, Your Highness." She looked at the Queen and Consort. "With your permission, I'd like to follow up with Princess Azkadellia within a few days to ensure the treatment is working."

"Of course," the Queen replied, her smile lighting the room like her daughters' linked hands had. "You are always welcome here, Doctor."

"I need to go back to base and retrieve the supplies. If you'll pardon me, Majesties." The blonde curtseyed after the Queen nodded, and gathered her bag.

She shook all the way to her horse, and could not tie her pack to the back of the saddle.

Jeb followed her and gathered her in his arms as she sobbed, adrenaline seeping from her body through her tears.

* * *

"DG, my darling," the Queen said quietly after the Resistance fighters left, "you need to rest."

DG looked at her mother, surprised. "I'm fine."

Cain's voice was as soft as his breath on her ear. "It might not be a bad idea, kid. You've had a long couple of days."

She craned her neck to look at him, and found his face as impassive as ever. But there was something in his eyes that registered subconsciously, but still deeply, within her, and she sighed, knowing this battle was all but lost. "Only if Az says it's okay."

Her sister smiled at her from her bed. "I'm not going anywhere, Deege. You look like you could use a bath, a meal and a bed."

"Hey!" DG protested. "I don't look _that_ bad. Do I?" She looked to Cain for confirmation. He only smirked and gave a half-shrug.

"Fine," the brunette huffed, rising from the bed, but not before kissing her sister's cool forehead. "If you need anything—"

"I'll have someone find you. I promise." Azkadellia looked beyond her sister at the protective soldier behind her. "Do try to keep her out of trouble, won't you, Mr. Cain?"

"I make no promises, Your Highness. Trouble does seem to find her rather easily."

"Hey!" DG protested, moving to elbow Cain in the ribs. He caught her arm easily, turning her slightly toward him. If either of them moved any further, her arm would be around his waist.

Neither seemed to mind.

"There are more bedrooms two floors down," Azkadellia said softly, her eyes light as she watched her sister and the Tin Man. "Forgive the decorating."

DG laughed brightly in spite of the situation and hugged her sister once more before allowing Cain to usher her to the bedroom. As she stood in the hallway, allowing him to search and secure the room, the nagging sense of confusion and loss she'd felt since the travel storm dropped her in the O.Z started to overwhelm her. She'd lost, and then found her parents—or, the robots she believed to be her parents—then lost them again to the Sorceress' tyranny. She found people who cared for her, who remembered and knew more about her life than she did, and she felt nothing but confusion around them.

She'd found friends and a warm sense of comforting safety, despite not knowing much about them, nor spending much time with them. Indeed, she'd found very good friends, one in particular who'd refused to leave her side, and despite the justifications she'd tried to make herself believe, not just out of some promise he'd made to an old man. One in particular whose proximity was making her head spin, and she couldn't tell if she liked it or not.

She'd found a home she didn't remember, but that remembered her, and she was going to be in charge of helping to rebuild it. All those lives, depending on her.

_Only one, and one alone…_

DG felt her knees start to give out from beneath her, and as always, Cain was there to keep her from falling. He guided her into the bedroom and kicked the door shut with his foot, placing her in an overstuffed chair. Kneeling in front of her, he bent his head until he caught her eyes, which were wide, wild and the deepest navy blue he'd ever seen.

He'd never been good in dealing with emotional females—hell, he'd never been good with dealing with emotions, period. But there had been something about this crazy girl, this insane Other Sider, that he instinctively understood.

She wanted to find her family, just like he did.

She didn't take shit from anybody, just like he didn't.

She may not have understood it fully, but there was a mission to complete, answers to find, and she'd do her damndest to do it right, just like he did.

As DG sat, looking down at him, openly and unabashedly scared, he thought back to the doctor's orders. "Take a deep breath," he said, lowering and quieting his voice as he had with the Mystic Man. "You gotta breathe for me, DG, or you're gonna pass out."

She closed her eyes and tried to center herself, but found only a swirling and foreboding maelstrom of overwhelming confusion waiting behind her eyelids. Her eyes flew open at the imposition, and she instead focused on Cain's concerned gaze, his softened face, and the way his hands held tightly to hers as they rested on her knees.

As she tried to breathe, she felt as though there was no air in her lungs. She started to panic further, until she felt Cain squeeze her fingers, partially lacing their hands together.

"Come on, kiddo," he urged. "Don't lose your head."

Somehow, as though his words persuaded the gods above offered some of their own air to her, she found a short breath and expelled it, harshly and unevenly. Once the initial gasp passed, she found it easier to fill her chest, and nodded after her breathing returned to normal.

"I'm sorry," she said, and watched as Cain's forehead scored with momentary confusion.

"You have nothing to be sorry about. Truth is, I'm surprised that hadn't happened sooner."

Now it was her turn to be puzzled. "What?"

"You've been through a hell of a lot the past week. Most people would have panicked long before now."

"Oh, I panicked," she assured him.

"I never saw it," he countered.

She dropped her gaze to their still connected hands. "When I lost you in the Realm of the Unwanted, when Ahamo grabbed me…"

He sucked in a slight breath at that, but pushed his discomfort aside. "You're safe now. Everybody's fine. Because of you."

"Because of _us,_" she corrected. "I couldn't have done it without you."

They were treading on dangerous ground, teetering on a precipice that he'd seen before, and knew the dangers of. "Don't forget about Raw and Zipperhead," he added, releasing her hands and rising to stand in front of her. "And that damn dog, too."

She smiled, shaking her head at his reticence. "False modesty does nothing for you," she teased.

"I know. I'll be expecting my medal any day now, Princess." He stepped further back and allowed her direct access to the bed. "You should get some sleep."

"So should you."

"Not tired," he lied. "Besides, Jeb and Doc should be back from camp soon."

If it was possible, DG's face softened further. "You guys have a lot to talk about."

Cain nodded gruffly. "Yeah, we do."

"Will you get me once the doctor's done with Az? I want to be with her."

"Of course, Princess," he replied, reaching down to the bed and unceremoniously yanking the covers back. "Now, sleep."

She toed off her shoes and peeled off her jacket, haphazardly throwing it in the chair she'd previously been sitting in. As she passed him, she rose on her socked toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly, slipping in between the sheets.

He could only nod in reply, and hovered as her exhausted eyes shut themselves almost involuntarily. He watched her carefully as she fell asleep, waiting to make sure her stressed visage melted into one of comforted dreams before he left her, closing the door silently behind him.

End Chapter Two


	3. Traitor

_Author's Notes: This chapter contains some fairly graphic descriptions and character assault. Consider yourselves warned._

_Thanks to the Sisters of Angst—Alamo Girl, Meredith Paris and Padme Kenobi._

_Disclaimer in Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Three: Traitor**

The first sun was starting to set, its brother chasing it toward the horizon, when Jeb and the medic returned to their base camp. At first glance, the two Resistance fighters were confused, for they did not see the torchlights or bonfire beckoning them closer to home.

As their steeds thundered toward the clearing, they heard one of the scouts cry out an announcement of their return. As the yell thundered by overhead, the captain and the doctor slowed their horses as they realized it was not a joyous shout, but an alert.

It was a call to arms.

Jeb reached over and pulled the medic's reins from her hands so quickly that her horse bucked, threatening to throw her. She squeezed her thighs around the saddle, reaching down and wrapping her arms around the horse's neck, holding on for dear life. When the two steeds all but skidded to a stop, their riders were close enough to realize that the entirety of their Resistance Cell stood on the outskirts of the camp. Their fellow soldiers' shadows obliterated any light from the clearing, leaving the approach of both parties shrouded in grey uncertainty.

Jeb dismounted, holding up a hand to keep the medic where she was. He approached his second-in-command, Sergeant Macklin. "What's happened? Why are you on full alert?"

Macklin did not answer him, but addressed three men to his right instead. "Get her," he ordered, and two lieutenants and a scout ran swiftly to the medic, pulling her from her horse.

Even in the dim light, Jeb's eyes flashed in obvious warning. "What are you _doing_, Macklin? Leave her alone!"

The doctor was too surprised, and partly frightened, to fight her captors. They dragged her to stand next to her captain, and she had to suppress a shudder as Macklin's eyes raked over her almost hungrily. "Take our medic and make her comfortable," he instructed. The way his face contorted into a disgusted sneer made the blood freeze in the blonde woman's veins.

She cried out as her guards manhandled her, twisting her right arm swiftly and painfully behind her back. She heard her shoulder pop out of its socket, but bit back the majority of the scream as it fought its way out of the blinding pain.

She heard Jeb yelling for her, and then heard signs of a scuffle. He was fighting a losing battle, trying to follow her, and was being stopped by the wall of an angry lynch mob, people he had once called friends, comrades.

She was dragged to the back of the camp and thrown roughly into her beloved chair. The wood did not comfort her as it once did; tonight it felt as though it had been sullied, blackened, dirtied.

The guards forced her arms behind the chair and locked her wrists together in their standard wooden hold. She looked up, trying to rotate her shoulder back into place, or at least into an acceptable enough position that she didn't feel like she'd pass out from the pain.

"Stop moving." Lieutenant Evans, a man she'd once estimated to be about forty annuals, ordered coldly.

"I'm just trying to get comfortable." The reply was equally dissenting.

"You don't deserve comfortable." The second lieutenant, Matheson, stood behind her, pressing his hand down on her injured shoulder.

The medic saw stars, but tried to minimize her grimace. _Think,_ she ordered herself. _Observe. Assess. Plan._

Matheson moved from behind her to stand next to Evans. As the two men bent together, whispering, she tried to examine the situation for any indication of why she was being treated like a Longcoat. Both men's posture was rigid and dutiful; they believed themselves to be righteously carrying out orders. Their faces confirmed they had no regard for her physical health—they were calculating, disdainful, and, it seemed, repulsed by the very sight of her.

The first blow landed so quickly she didn't have time to see it coming.

When she looked up, she tasted the tangy copper of gushing blood on her lip, and saw the strike had reddened Evans' knuckles slightly.

She turned her head slightly from the second blow, the defensiveness causing his hand to strike her cheek instead the center of her face as he'd planned.

He was undeterred. His left hand cupped her chin just before his right fist landed three more quick but blinding hits.

She could barely see through the tears and the blood. "What are you doing?" Her voice was hoarse and uneven.

Evans looked over at Matheson. "Fancy a go before we interrogate her?"

The second lieutenant strode across the tent and swiftly connected his boot with her abdomen, reaching out a long arm to ensure she didn't fall backward onto the forest floor. This time, she did cry out, and doubled over, her injured shoulder and bound wrists straining excruciatingly at the movement.

When she raised her head, Matheson was crouched down in front of her. "I'm disappointed in you, Doc. You broke much faster than I figured you would."

She spat blood and hatred in his face.

He didn't flinch. "Tell me about the Sorceress."

"What?"

He backhanded her. "Don't play with me! We know you healed her!"

Despite her injuries and blinding agony, she was indignant at the accusation. "I did no such thing! I was here when the final battle happened! You _know_ that, Evans. I stitched up your arm."

"Is she or is she not alive, Lowry?"

"I don't understand." Her tone became breathlessly pleading after Matheson hit her harshly in the stomach again, this time with his fist. She doubled over again, feeling her abdominal muscles as they contracted and warmed sickeningly at the contact.

Matheson stood up abruptly. "Bring him in," he said to Evans, before looking back down at the medic. "Apparently the doc doesn't want to share with us."

Evans stepped briskly to the tent opening, and before he could open the flap completely, the scout that had accompanied Jeb, his father and DG to the tower earlier in the day stepped through. His chest puffed out, and his shoulders and chin were tipped haughtily back, as though he'd delivered some war-winning piece of intelligence. The medic watched him closely, brows knitting in confusion, in spite of the swelling beginning to appear on her face.

"Linus," Evans said, clapping the boy proudly on the shoulder, "would you please refresh the good doctor's memory as to what you did today?"

"Certainly, sir," Linus replied, standing between the two lieutenants and looking down at the doctor contemptuously. "I accompanied Captain Cain, his father, and the girl claiming to be Princess Dorothy of the House of Gale to the Black Tower."

"And when you arrived at the Black Tower, did you accompany your fellow riders inside?"

"I did, sir," Linus confirmed.

"What did you see there?" With every word, Evans stepped closer to the blonde, hand flexing in and out of a fist, as though waiting impatiently to strike her again.

"I saw the Sorceress, sitting on a sitting room couch."

Realization hit her harder than any of the Resistance fighters' hands. "No. No, you've got it wrong."

Linus' light, young eyes widened. "I know what I saw, ma'am. She was sitting there, plain as day. I stood in the same room as her, for _hours_, until they moved her to a private chamber and Captain Cain ordered me to come back to base and get you."

"That's not the Sorceress," the medic protested.

Evans was right on top of her now, and she flinched as he crouched in front of her, his reddened, angry face pressed to her bruised one. "What are you?" he seethed, voice dark and deadly.

"I'm the doctor that fixed half a dozen of your wounds_._ I'm the daughter of a man you went to school with. I'm a Resistance fighter. I'm your _ally._" Her words wobbled in her mouth, and she hated herself for sounding openly scared.

She instinctually closed her eyes and turned away from the next strike, which only infuriated Evans more. Matheson stepped forward and pulled the other man's elbow, moving him to stand next to the scout once again.

"I saw the Sorceress," Linus repeated emphatically. "I know what I saw."

"As do I." One of her upper teeth was loose, and it scraped against her lips as she spoke. "Princess Azkadellia was possessed by the Witch of the Dark, creating the Sorceress. The woman I treated today was not the Sorceress. She was a scared little girl." _Just like you, you rat bastards._

"So you _do_ admit it!" Evans retorted, maniacally gleeful.

Matheson shook his head sadly. "She must be bewitched," he said to his counterpart. "The Doc I know would never help that…thing."

"The Doc you know is most likely dead," Linus interjected. "She's probably been brain-scrambled, or body-switched."

"I'm fine!" the blonde medic protested, fighting against her shackles again. "You're making a mistake! I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Thank Ozma her father isn't around to see this," Matheson murmured to Evans. "As it is, he's probably rolling in his grave. His daughter, helping the Sorceress? It'd probably kill him all over again."

"You leave my father out of this," the doctor seethed. "Do you honestly think I'd help the woman who killed him?"

"Whatever this thing is, it's absorbed part of Doc's memory," Evans observed, ignoring her completely. "This is looking more and more like a bewitching."

"Listen to me!" she pleaded, panic and bile rising to burn her throat. "I'm not bewitched. The Witch is dead. The Sorceress that lived inside Azkadellia is gone. I swear it on my life."

Matheson stepped forward. "That's not worth much right now."

Evans pulled a sheathed knife from his belt and approached her. The blade glinted in the filtered moon and torch light. "Time to exorcise some demons."

The three men and the doctor jumped as the tent opening rattled. Macklin strode in, backlit in a hellish combination of red and orange, and looked approvingly at his henchmen's handiwork. "We need her."

Evans raised his eyebrows. "We were just finishing with her."

"Jeb won't talk," Macklin explained. "Might feel a bit more forthcoming if his bitch is right there."

She dug in her heels and swung her shackled arms, trying in vain to hit her captors' knees and knock them off kilter. They avoided the blows and picked her up rather effortlessly, carrying her from her tent and into another across the clearing.

When they brought the medic in and threw her to the ground, she landed sideways, the pressure from the dirt digging into her injured shoulder. She cried out at the contact, and an unidentified boot connected with her stomach again.

"Leave her alone!"

She'd never been so happy to hear Jeb's voice, even as furious and lethal as it was.

Evans righted her roughly, and her chair wobbled against Jeb's before coming to rest side by side. She was able to turn her head slightly and examine him through the one remaining eye that was not swollen shut. He'd apparently taken his beating better than she had, for while he was bloodied, his injuries seemed far less than her own.

Macklin grabbed Jeb's chair and moved it so he sat directly in front of the medic. "Take a good look, Cain. She can't take much more."

She set her jaw, raising her chin defiantly. _Yes, I can,_ she assured Jeb silently. _And even if I can't…_

She hadn't thought much about death since she'd seen her father killed, but wondered if she'd known her life was going to end today, going to end like this, if she'd have done anything different.

After a moment, she found her answer was a resounding 'no'.

Jeb was staring at her, eyes wide and sorrowful. "Ainsley," he whispered, and she had to smile at the use of her rarely spoken given name.

"I must really be in trouble if you're pulling that out," she managed.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't." She shook her head, the movement causing more blood to spill, and making her slightly dizzy. "You and I know the truth. I'm fine going to my grave with that knowledge."

Jeb looked at Macklin. "Let her go," he implored. "Your issue's with me, not her."

The only answer he received was another sharp blow to the medic's head. The blackness threatened to overtake her, and she swayed heavily, even as she remained shackled to the chair. Her eyelids became heavy, and sweet respite in the form of unconsciousness began to beckon.

"Such a shame." She heard Evans's voice as though through a tunnel. "I think she's giving up, _Captain."_ The last word was scornfully arrogant.

That brought her back to reality, and she forced her eyes open, blinding light firing into her pain receptors as she moved. "Never," she spat, looking Jeb dead in the face again. Her tone shifted to one of eerie calm. "Jeb did not lie to you when he said the Witch was defeated. You do not understand what you saw, or what you heard." She looked through bleary, bloody eyes between the lieutenants and sergeant. "If you kill us, you will have innocent blood on your hands."

"_When_ we kill you, Doc. _When_," Macklin assured her.

End Chapter Three


	4. Forgive Us Our Sins

_Author's Notes: This chapter contains some disturbing content and more character assaults._

_All medical information contained within this chapter is factual._

_Thanks to the Sisters of Angst: Alamo Girl, Meredith Paris, and Padme Kenobi for keeping me laughing, encouraged and iconed to the max. And thanks to all who have commented thus far!_

_Disclaimer in Part One._

_As of 4/25/08, this fic is no longer a work in progress. From here on out, I'll upload a chapter a day._

* * *

**Chapter Four: Forgive Us Our Sins**

When DG woke, it was once again dark outside. Moonlight streamed brilliantly through the balcony windows, indicating that both celestial bodies were nearing their peaks in the night sky, and telling her she'd been asleep for much longer than she'd anticipated.

She stretched in the bed, and what was intended to be languid and fluid instead angrily popped several vertebrae in her neck and back, and many of her muscles screamed in protest. She flopped back down on the mattress quickly, unable to fully suppress a hissing grimace. She supposed her body was fighting through the injuries and overexertion of the past week, now that the adrenaline that had apparently masked her discomfort had been depleted.

She sighed carefully, rolling her shoulders and causing her t-shirt to crawl up her stomach. She shivered slightly, the coolness of the night air slipping beneath the sheets and resting next to her like an uninvited companion. She stood and reached for her coat, its wooly lining comforting her both physically and emotionally. She slid on her shoes and walked to the door, stepping into the hallway and promptly colliding with Wyatt Cain.

"Easy there, Princess." He caught her about the biceps and righted her. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

She regarded him closely. His jaw was tight, and though they tried to fool her, his eyes were not as light as they had been of late. "I could ask you the same thing."

He looked over her head, down the hall, apparently weighing his response.

"What's going on, Cain?" she prompted gently.

"Jeb and Doc aren't back yet," he replied in a low voice. "I think something's happened."

_Shit. _"How long have they been gone?"

"Eight hours."

She was more than a little peeved at having been allowed to sleep for so long, but turned that thought into a fleeting one, and focused on the concerned man in front of her. She could understand Jeb not returning—he was the man with the Resistance plan, after all—but the medic should have come back to the palace by now with Az's medicine. She didn't strike DG as flippant, either forgetting her promise to the Royal Family, or fooling them into believing she'd help the eldest princess, and then rescind her word.

"Okay." DG found her voice after a moment, and it was firm as she planned. "You and I will go back to the camp and find out what's keeping them."

She hadn't realized Cain's hands were still on her arms until he squeezed them gently, his thumbs rubbing light circles on her biceps. "Thanks, kiddo, but your place is here. Az needs you."

DG was torn between stubborn protestation and marked concern for her older sister. The latter eventually won out. "Is she okay?"

Cain sighed, his breath tickling her bangs. "She's out of it. Her breathing's still off, and it's becoming more labored."

"Then we _have_ to go find the medic!" Fury, laced with just a smattering of fear, sparked behind her eyes. "She needs to help Az."

"I think, right now, you're of most help to your sister," Cain said quietly. "I'm going to investigate. Hopefully I'll be back within the hour."

"You can't go alone." DG crossed her arms indignantly. "I won't let you."

Amusement colored the Tin Man's cheeks.

"You won't _what_, Princess?"

Her index finger landed squarely in the center of his broad chest. "You heard me. You can't go in alone. Somebody has to have your back."

"I'll be fine, kiddo."

"Would you have let the men you led into battle go in blind and without backup?"

She could tell she'd hit a nerve when his eyes darkened. "The fighters that were here two days ago are either dead, Longcoats or at the camp already. I don't have much choice."

"Then let me go." A third voice joined the conversation, and DG turned to see her father striding ardently toward them. "I may be slightly out of practice, but it seems I'm all you've got." To his youngest daughter, Ahamo said, "I know you want to help, DG, but your place is here right now, with your mother and sister. Until we get the doctor back, I think the best thing for Azkadellia is to have your strength and magic mix with hers."

DG dropped her head in troubled consent, and jumped slightly when Cain's hand found hers. She turned her blue eyes on his, and found the softness she'd come to rely on had returned. "I'll take the Zipperhead, too. He was pretty helpful in getting us into the tower to find you and Raw."

"I'll go saddle some horses," Ahamo said, his own eyes investigating the scene between the princess and the Tin Man. "I'll meet you outside, Mr. Cain."

"Yes, sir," Cain replied, his gaze mostly resting on DG, though she knew he could multi-task enough to watch her father go. "I'll be fine, kiddo," he repeated. "Don't worry about me."

_Impossible,_ she thought, but offered an unsteady smile anyway. "I will be extremely pissed if you get shot again."

He grinned at that, and after a moment of obvious hesitation, pulled her into a tight hug reminiscent of their embrace just before they stormed the tower. "I'll be back before you know it," he murmured, his lips brushing against the side of her face.

She was instantly cold as he strode away, never looking back.

* * *

If he thought they'd ridden hard trying to rescue DG from the tomb of the Grey Gale, Wyatt Cain was sorely mistaken.

He only half remembered rushing from the tower and mounting his horse. Ahamo and Glitch had already been waiting for him when he'd emerged. The Consort had lifted one of the abandoned Longcoat weapons, along with munitions for his gun, as well as Cain's. Once Cain had reloaded and safely holstered his pistol, the three men took off at a charge so fast it felt like the wind couldn't keep up with them.

They had to slow their pace as they left the light of the tower and were plunged into the thick darkness of the surrounding woods. Finally bringing their horses to a careful trot, Cain scoured the hillside, searching for signs of life from the Resistance camp.

"There," Glitch whispered, pointing to their right. "Torchlight."

Ahamo made to ride toward the orange glow, but Cain held out a hand to stop him from moving. "They'll hear us coming. We need to approach slowly. Leave the horses here."

The three men dismounted silently, each holding their breath until their feet rested safely on the ground. Cain took a tentative first step, waiting for the sound of crunching leaves, rustling branches, or disturbed animals to alert the fighters to their locations. Hearing nothing, he took another step, then another. He felt Glitch and Ahamo on either side of his elbows, and could feel apprehension mix with fury as they approached the camp.

He pulled his six-shooter from his side and quietly released the safety. Ahamo followed suit, and the three men crouched down about fifty yards from the edge of the clearing, hiding themselves among the overgrown grasses and brambles.

"I don't see Jeb," Glitch whispered, pulling out field glasses from Ozma only knew where. "Or the doctor."

"What do you see?" Cain whispered back, trying to count the number of men patrolling the perimeter of the camp.

"Two, no, three men around the outskirts. I can't see if they have any weapons." He dropped the binoculars. "Why would they leave the edges so open?"

"They don't have an enemy anymore," Ahamo said. "They've won."

"They need all available personnel on the prisoners," Cain added. "They'd take men from the borders to make sure the Longcoats don't get away before they can be transported to Central City Jail."

They inched closer, trying to gauge whether or not the guards were armed. As they moved stealthily through the brush, they started to hear sounds from the camp filtering in through the crickets' chirping.

"So then the bartender says to the Longcoat, 'We don't serve your kind in here.' And then the Longcoat says, 'You don't serve guys named Steve?'"

Thankfully, Glitch's groan at the horrible joke evaporated among the laughs of the unfortunate joketeller's comrades. The laughter faded away into a few chuckles and a rather loud hiccup, and Cain sent a thankful prayer to the heavens.

"They're drunk off their asses." Ahamo's voice was incredulously amused. "Hallelujah."

"Glitch," Cain said, "think you can take all three of 'em?"

"Gladly," the former Royal Advisor replied, and rose to his full height, striding toward the three men. "Gentlemen," he said quietly, gaining their attention but not alerting the other fighters to the rescue party's presence. As the three men turned toward him, teetering and off-kilter in their inebriation, Glitch disposed of two of them quickly with a hard kick to one's chest, sending him plowing into the other. The third tried to rush his attacker, but with a roundhouse kick to the head, he knocked the man out cold.

Glitch reached down and disarmed the unconscious man, holding his pistol on his woozy companions. Cain and Ahamo rushed into the clearing, checking the other two fighters for weapons. When one of the guards went to open his mouth and call for help, Cain rendered him immobile with a well placed strike to the temple.

Cain pressed his six-shooter to the remaining fighter's head. "Make a sound and it'll be your last," he growled.

The boy, no more than sixteen or seventeen annuals, looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes, and nodded shakily.

Cain knelt in front of him. "Jeb Cain. Where is he?"

The boy was trembling so badly that he looked as though he was having a seizure. Cain dropped the gun from the fighter's forehead to his chest, blazing eyes glinting in the torchlight. "Tell me where he is."

"He's…he's in Sergeant Macklin's tent."

"Is he being held captive?"

The boy's shaking stopped as raised his chin in defiance. "He's a traitor."

It took what little self-control Cain had left not to strike the boy for the affront. "What about Doc Lowry?"

The boy shook his head. "They had to make an example out of someone."

Cain's heart stopped in his chest, but did not show his abhorrence at the thought. "How many guards between here and Macklin's tent?"

The boy's eyes and boldness fell. "None. They're all guarding the brig."

"And where is that?" Ahamo's voice was just as cold as Cain's.

"Opposite side of the camp."

_Thank Ozma for small miracles, _Cain thought, and then pulled the boy to his feet. "Not one sound," he warned again. "Do not make a sound." He pushed the boy in front of him, his gun now pressed into the child's back. One shot would pierce his heart and put him down instantly.

It scared him how callously and quickly he'd trade one boy's life for another.

"Glitch," the Tin Man said, "think you can babysit the others and make sure we don't have any surprises?"

"Not a problem," the black-haired man replied, and as he crossed his arms importantly, Cain could see elements of Ambrose seeping through.

Cain shoved his hostage forward while Ahamo continued to scan their path for hostiles. As the men stepped silently through the clearing, Cain stopped when Ahamo pulled up short. "Did you hear that?" the Consort asked, inclining his head to the right.

In the stillness, they could hear the sickening crack of knuckles on bone coming from three tents away. The maniacal laughter that followed chilled Cain more than falling into the Northern Island lake ever could.

He heard his son's voice clearly over the taunts, and a tentative sense of relief flooded him. Jeb's voice was strong, as though he were in charge of the beating, and not on the receiving end of it.

Cain thrust the young fighter in front of him forward, walking the boy to the very edge of the tent. He forced the boy to the doorway, standing off to the side, remaining out of sight.

The laughter and hits stopped as the guard's presence was noted. "Saul?" A gruff, annoyed voice asked. "Why did you leave your post?"

"Say nothing," Cain mouthed silently, and the boy took a step back from the entrance, the Tin Man's gun pressed into his side.

"Saul?" The voice was getting closer now, and Cain could see a shadow moving toward the tent entrance. When the middle-aged man stepped toward the page, Cain blindsided him with a hard hook to the chin, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Jeb Cain remembered the day he first met Ainsley Lowry as though it'd happened yesterday instead of almost six annuals ago. She'd hurried into one of the Resistance camps, her porcelain skin wrinkled with worry. She'd stopped to speak to a sentinel, her alto voice husky in its concern. The guard had quickly ushered her to their leader's tent, and Jeb had returned his attention to scouring field intelligence reports.

A shadow had passed over his notes and he'd squinted up toward the bright sunlight, shading his eyes with his hand. "Connors wants to see you," the second-in-command ordered. "Has a new mission for you."

Wordlessly, Jeb had risen from the table and strode toward the captain's tent. Barely sixteen annuals himself, he'd been fighting this damn war half his life. He led a liar's life, moving between strongholds, gathering information. His sharp mind and resolute determination had made him one of the best scouts this cell had ever seen, and Connors called on him more than any other, especially when he wanted the job done right.

When he'd entered the leader's tent, the newcomer was seated on the captain's cot, dark eyes fixated on the frayed lining of the canvas. Jeb had looked between the blonde and his captain, waiting for the older man to speak.

"Jeb Cain, I'd like you to meet Ainsley Lowry," Connors had said.

"Dan Lowry's kid?" He remembered his father mentioning the name several times. Lowry had headed up their safe haven network, connecting intelligence, supplies and fighters from one end of the O.Z. to the other.

She had closed her eyes at Jeb's words and looked down at the patch of grass growing in the center of the tent, blonde waves hiding her face from the two men.

"Mr. Lowry is missing," Connors continued. "Presumed taken."

_Shit._ If the Longcoats had him, their entire underground network was most likely compromised. "What do you want me to do, sir?"

"Find the truth," Connors had said, sparing a fleeting glance at the still-silent woman. "Try to determine how much collateral damage there is."

"Yes, sir." Jeb had walked out of the tent without the blonde doctor ever saying a word to him.

She was still at the camp when he returned six days later. She'd sat stoically as he relayed the awful reality—her father was being held, and most likely tortured, by the Sorceress for information. Jeb knew enough from the few fighters they'd managed to rescue over the annuals that he was most likely in a cell, receiving little food and water, and daily beatings.

They both knew what would happen if the Sorceress didn't get her information.

Dan Lowry was hanged less than four months later.

Her father had sent Ainsley to Central City to receive medical training, as well as to keep her away from any knowledge of how deeply he was involved in the Resistance. When she decided to stay and fight her father's murderer, the commanders had readily agreed. The opposition fighters needed bodies, especially Healers, and though she hadn't officially completed her training, her triage became the vast landscapes of the O.Z. Her patients were not fellow students with fictional diagnoses, but actual human beings. People were relying on a girl all of nineteen annuals old to save their lives.

Jeb and Adora moved between resistance cells over the next two annuals, and he forgot all about the silent medic until a standoff to the North left him and his men pinned for several days. When reinforcements from the nearest camp finally arrived and they were able to push the Longcoat faction back, his battered regiment had returned to the base with their brethren.

He'd been the last to be examined by the medic, and when the blonde walked in, he didn't recognize her. Her posture had hardened in the days that had passed, and her eyes held tales of adversity no one of her age—or any age, for that matter—should have endured. She'd leaned against her desk, scrutinizing him closely as he paced impatiently. "When'd you get that cut?" She'd asked, motioning to the gash in his arm.

He'd shrugged. "Couple days ago, I guess."

"It's infected."

"It's fine. I'm fine. I just want to get back to my men." He'd turned to leave, stopping short when she pressed her hand on the injury. "Shit!"

"Oh, yes, completely fine." She'd motioned to the exam table. "Sit."

He remembered thinking that he didn't have time for this bull. "Just stitch it up and I'll be on my way."

"The beauty of being the medic in charge, Lieutenant Cain, is that I give the all-clear as to when men can return to active duty. You're not going anywhere unless I say so."

He'd looked incredulously at her. "You're not serious."

She just smirked. "Try me." She'd pointed to the exam table again. "We walk out of here together, like it or not."

After a brief standoff in which he considered pulling his sidearm, he'd finally acquiesced and allowed her to examine him, and she'd ultimately declared him fit. He left the next day. This time, he did not forget about the pretty blonde medic with the acerbic wit.

If he were honest with himself, he'd started falling in love with her that day.

* * *

As he sat in his former second's tent, thinking off-handedly at the timing of his reminiscence, he looked across at Ainsley's now battered face. Admiration, along with something he didn't quite know how to define, swelled in his chest before he nudged her foot with his. She'd been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last few hours, and he could tell, from the little medical knowledge he had, that she probably had a concussion.

The movement woke her up, and though she was groggy, the medic could tell from the way his stiff body had relaxed that Jeb had been remembering something. She tilted her head slightly and painfully in silent questioning, and he just shook his head, eyes shining openly. She thought she'd known every look he had, had catalogued every nuance, but this was a look that she'd never seen before. This look warmed her with hope and resolve. This look convinced her that they would get out of this, one way or another.

The tent flaps opened, and they drew their eyes away from each other as their captors returned. The doctor tossed her bloody, sweaty hair away from her face and glared overtly as Macklin, Evans and Matheson entered the tent, followed by Linus, who was dragging a Viewer by a rusted chain collar bound around the animal's neck.

She and Jeb cried out at the same time, their angry protestations building upon the last until they were both nearly hoarse from screaming.

_When did the lines between good and evil, between right and wrong, between Resistance and Longcoat get so blurry?_ she wondered, tears of pain for the furry prisoner stinging the cuts on her face.

Evans knelt in front of her, brandishing his knife. "You know how painful it is to be read by a Viewer, don't you, Doc? Especially for someone in…your condition."

"He can read me all he wants," she replied, her lips barely moving. "In fact, I'd like him to. That way, you'd know what assholes you are."

"No!" Jeb objected, pinning her with a glare that clearly told her to shut up. "He can read me."

Evans punched the young man in the nose, and blood flew like sparks. Disturbing laughter bounced off the low ceiling, but this time, the medic did not flinch.

Out of the corner of her eye, the doctor saw movement, and a shadowed human form blocked the light from the center campfire. The intrusion garnered the other men's attention as well. "Saul?" Matheson asked, looking away from their prisoners. "Why did you leave your post?"

The boy in the doorway did not say anything, and Matheson moved to him. "Saul?"

A strong fist connected with the interrogator's face and sent him flying to the ground outside. Macklin was outside in a flash, and he, too, was rushed, falling to the ground with a surprised grunt. The captives stared disbelievingly at the scene in front of them, and both hearts started to race as they saw a familiar duster fan out off the body who tackled Macklin.

Jeb was standing in an instant, his movement so quick that he surprised the remaining interrogator. The two men collided with unparalleled force when Jeb rushed at him. Both men fell with grunts to the ground, Jeb landing sideways, the weight of his shackles and the chair keeping him on his side.

Wyatt Cain and the Consort entered the tent then, guns drawn.

They were a second too late.

Evans was up before Jeb even had a moment to catch his breath. With the ease of a man half his age, Evans rolled until he shielded himself behind the medic. His knife was still in his right hand, and she shivered when the cold metal touched her neck.

"One step and she bleeds out like the animal she is."

Cain didn't move from the entrance, his pistol cocked and aimed at Evans' head. Ahamo sat Jeb upright, and the two men fought to remove the constraints.

Evans pressed the blade fuller into the doctor's neck, and she felt a new stream of blood weave its way down her skin, over and through the welts and bruises.

She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. Her pulse boomed loudly in her ears, rendering her temporarily deaf, and she was shocked when she heard Jeb's voice, loudly and clearly. _Look at me._

She opened her eyes, and saw that he'd been freed from his bindings and was standing in front of his father and the Consort. His eyes were trained on her, laser-like, wide and commanding. _Trust me._

She nodded gently, the movement cutting her skin as Evans held steadfast.

This time, Jeb spoke aloud. "You have one chance, Evans. Give it up."

The medic hissed as the blade dug deeper, and she realized with increasing terror that he was just above her carotid artery. One deeper, longer cut, and she'd bleed out in under a minute.

She heard Jeb's voice in her head again. _Focus, Doc. Focus on me._

She tried to square her jaw in resolution around her trembling. _I've got you,_ his eyes assured her. _We walk out of here together, remember?_

He tilted his head faintly to his right, and rolled his shoulder just enough that she'd see the movement. His hand rested openly on his thigh, and she moved her gaze to it as it began counting down three fingers.

When only his index finger and thumb remained open against his brown pant leg, she used the last of her energy, praying it would mix with the adrenaline she felt coursing through her veins, and leaned forward, rolling herself away from the blade and toward the ground.

Evans went down with a shot to the head before she landed in the dirt.

Jeb rushed to her and unhooked her quickly. She sprawled on the ground with a groan, and stars filled her eyes at the onslaught of pain.

Two strong hands eased her to her knees. She could not see her rescuers through the blurring, excruciating tears. "Can you walk?" Wyatt Cain asked breathlessly, looking over his shoulder.

She nodded, and he helped her to her feet. Jeb was right next to her, hooking a sturdy, protective arm around her waist as they fled from the tent. "Wait," she cried softly, and Jeb stopped to look at her. "What about the Viewer? We can't just leave him here with these…animals."

Cain searched the clearing quickly. "He's gone, probably escaped to the woods. We need to go."

The words had barely left his mouth when the first bands of supporting fighters came to investigate the shot.

"This way!" Glitch stood in front of them, one hand holding a torch, the other motioning hurriedly.

The sudden onslaught of the pitch black surroundings disoriented the fleeing parties. In their absence, Glitch had extinguished each of the light sources, save for the one in his hand, so they wouldn't be easily followed once the rescue mission had succeeded.

Cain had only been more thankful for the Zipperhead one other time. Well, maybe two.

Their pursuers successfully hindered by the lack of illumination, the rescue party and captives reached the horses quickly, stepping over the bodies of the two downed guards. Cain all but threw Jeb onto a horse, and father and son helped ease the medic onto the saddle behind him. Only the comfort of her pack behind her, and Jeb in front, kept the medic upright.

The skies opened up a stinging rain as they fled the place once called home.

* * *

"Doc!"

"Miss Lowry!"

The shouts in the hallway roused Azkadellia from unconsciousness. The horizon was starting to lighten from its navy inkiness to a dull grey, and rain slipped down the windows as the heavens wept. As the awareness of the morning slipped into her understanding, she realized that the previous night had been the first time since she was a child that she hadn't woken up screaming.

She jumped as the door thundered open, and smiled slightly when she heard gruff, muttered curses coming from the doorway.

Her amusement evaporated quickly.

The eldest princess gasped in abject horror when she saw her doctor's bloodied, bruised form limp into her chambers. Her sudden intake of breath set her to choking again, and she fought against the shuddering coughs.

The medic was to her side as quickly as her injured body allowed. "Breathe," she ordered through her swollen mouth. When the spasms only continued, getting worse as the princess attempted to demand what had transpired, the blonde doctor lost what little hold she had on her patience. "Damn it, Azkadellia, breathe!"

The coughs sputtered to a fast halt, and the brunette looked up at the doctor amusedly. "Well, when you say it like that…"

Ainsley closed her puffy eyes. "Your Highness, I'm sorry. That was extremely out of line."

Azkadellia covered the doctor's hand reassuringly. "Don't worry. What happened to you?"

"That's not important now." She reached into her pocket with her good arm and pulled out her stethoscope, which had thankfully—_and rather stupidly, _she thought—been secured in her pack and kept tied to her horse during her interrogation. "Breathe as deeply as you can," she requested, listening to Azkadellia's chest. The heart murmur was much less pronounced, though the speed of her heartbeat still irked the medic. _Though if I woke up and saw someone looking half as bad as I feel right now, I'd probably be a little peaked,_ she thought.

"Your breathing isn't as strong as I'd like it to be," she informed the brunette. "Unfortunately, I wasn't able to acquire the respiratory stimulants necessary to assist you." Anger was evident both in her tone and across her features. She was losing her neutrality, along with her ability to focus. _Step back_.

DG, the Queen and Consort had joined them in the room during the doctor's examination. Both parents visibly flinched when the medic turned and gave a half-curtsy, holding on tightly to the side of the bed as she did so.

"How can we help you, Doctor?" Ahamo asked, steadying his wife with an arm around her waist.

Ainsley looked down at Azkadellia, thinking quickly. "How many floors are in this tower?"

Azkadellia shrugged gently. "Dozens. Why?"

"Would any of the lowest floors be suitable to establish a bedroom for you?"

"Is it absolutely necessary to move her, when she is so weak already?" the Queen asked.

Ainsley looked sadly at Azkadellia's parents. "Due to the…unforeseen circumstances of last night, I was unable to procure any of the medicines I'd hoped to. I'll need to go to the Central City apothecary and find what I've lost, but in the interim, I think the best thing we can do is get Azkadellia to lower ground. The air is too thin up here; at a lower level, I don't think she'll struggle to breathe as badly."

"I'll go look," DG offered. "We'll find you a room with a view, Az, don't worry."

"Thank you, my darling," her mother replied, and the youngest brunette ran from the room, the squeaking of her sneakers echoing long after she'd left the marble hallway.

"The Longcoats had a medical ward, experimental though it may have been," Azkadellia said softly after a moment. "You're welcome to raid their stores if you are not up to traveling in your current condition."

"Thank you, Your Highness," the medic replied. "I'll certainly do that."

"After you get yourself cleaned up," the Queen ordered, stepping from her husband's embrace. "It will not do to have the Royal Medic looking worse than her patient."

_Royal Medic. _Ainsley shook her head immediately. "Thank you, Your Majesty, but I cannot accept such a title, not when I've yet to assist your family in any major capacity."

"Your presence is assistance and comfort enough." Azkadellia's voice was even quieter, her words meant solely for the medic's ears alone. The blonde looked down at the brunette, whose face was impassive, but whose dark eyes shone with a gratitude the medic wasn't sure she'd seen in any patient before.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. The room's occupants turned to see Jeb and Wyatt Cain, along with Raw, standing behind two wheelchairs. Azkadellia flinched at the sight; the last time one of those chairs had been used had been right before she…_the Witch_, she corrected mentally, had murdered the Mystic Man.

"DG found a room downstairs for you, Your Highness," Cain said, and the eldest princess was thankful his words drew everyone's attention momentarily away from her. "She and Glitch are setting it up now."

Ahamo took the wheelchair from the Tin Man and rolled it to his daughter's beside. "Your chariot, m'lady," he said with a smile, lifting her from the bed and into the seat.

Before her father turned to escort her out and to her new chambers, Azkadellia grasped Ainsley's hand. "Take care of yourself, and young Mr. Cain. I'm not going anywhere." When the medic began to protest, the brunette held up a hand. "I insist, Doctor Lowry. Please."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," the doctor replied, and watched, frustrated, as they wheeled her patient away.

Jeb stood in the doorway for a moment before entering the room fully, his muddied boots against the marble floor causing an uncomfortable squishing sound. He shut the door behind him and while he turned to physically face the medic, his eyes were downcast, his hands shoved deeply in his pockets.

"Don't." Her voice was hoarse from the beating and exhaustion. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this, Jeb Cain. I'm really not in the mood for kicking your ass right now."

She was shocked to see tears filling his eyes when he finally looked up at her. "They almost killed you today. Because of me."

"_No_." She was emphatic, and as much as it pained her to go to him so quickly, she crossed the room in three great strides. She tried not to wince as he flinched away when she raised her hand to cup his cheek. She would not be deterred, however, and ran her thumb over his cheekbone. "You kept me alive out there. Just like you always have."

His breath hitched in his chest and he pulled her to him with shaking hands, holding her as tightly as he dared, given her dislocated shoulder. She felt his tears as they cascaded down her cheeks, mixing with her own, the salt stinging the cuts marring her skin. She felt the rumble of the first sob as it erupted from his chest, and she tightened her arm around his neck, cradling him to her. "I'm fine." She tried to sound soothing around her own pain and fear. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me."

She must have hesitated an instant too long, for he pulled back, his eyes and face blotchy from his crying. She feared he'd pull away emotionally, too, when he took a half-step away from her. Instead, he touched their foreheads together and rested his hands on her hips. "I can't lose you, Doc. Not like I've lost everything else."

"Think about this," she urged, a smile coming to her face among the bruises and the blood. "Who else would put up with your sorry ass?"

He laughed wetly at that, and then fleetingly pulled her mouth to his, his lips resting against hers when he spoke, voice no more than a whisper. "You deserve better."

"I know."

He smiled again and pulled her into another hug, and she could feel him trying to find and articulate the words that had, until this point, remained unspoken between them. She leaned back and pressed her index finger to his lips. "I know, Jeb."

She had to grin at the relief on his face. "You really do pay attention, don't you, Doc?"

She could not reply, for there was a harried knock against the door, and the two all but leapt away from each other. They did not have time to bid their visitor entry, for by the time they found their voices again, DG was already in the room, looking as pale as her sister had, and equally frightened.

"You need to come right now. Az is in trouble."

End Chapter Four


	5. Reclamation

_Author's Notes: Some slightly yucky medical stuff in here, as we FINALLY reset poor Doc's shoulder. _

_The medical information contained in this chapter is factual. Both cardiac and respiratory stimulants listed (citrated caffeine and fluid extract of nux vomica, now known as_ _strychnine), along with the pain medication (morphine sulfate) were both in widespread use during World War I. And they say fanfic isn't educational._

_Thanks, as always, to the Sisters of Angst for rockin' the abbey like no other._

_Disclaimer in Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Five: Reclamation**

_Why couldn't this place have a damn elevator like the rest of Central City?_ DG thought as she raced back down the stairs to the second floor office that she and Glitch had set up as Azkadellia's makeshift bedroom. Jeb and the medic were right behind her, keeping pace even in their beaten states.

The blonde medic pushed Jeb out of the way once they reached the room, pulling her stethoscope from around her neck as she rushed to Az's bedside. DG came to rest on the opposite side of the room, and Cain stood behind her, his hand at the small of her back. She found herself leaning against his touch, settling herself against his unwavering support. Tears stung her eyes as she watched the two blond resistance fighters working silently but furiously on her sister, two complementary cogs in a well-oiled machine.

She looked down at her sister, who had slipped suddenly and violently into unconsciousness. Her chest was barely rising, she was so pale she was almost translucent, and she was cold. So, so cold. She reached down and linked her hand with Azkadellia's, trying to channel her magic and its warmth into her.

The medic pulled the stethoscope's ear tips from her eardrums. "Do either of you know where the alchemists' wards were? Or the medical ward?"

Both Cain and DG shook their heads. "What's the matter with her?" DG asked quietly.

"She's bradycardic." At her companions' confused looks, the doctor translated, "Her heartbeat is too slow. I need something to stimulate it." She turned to Jeb and began searching her bag, muttering a litany of curses that made the resistance leader blush.

DG couldn't hide a smile, and from the corner of her eye, saw that Cain's faced matched her own.

The physician sighed and threw the bag's flap closed disgustedly. "I don't have what I need to help her."

They all knew it could take hours to search the tower for the necessary supplies. They also knew Azkadellia probably didn't have that kind of time.

"Coffee!" The medic suddenly yelled, causing DG to jump backwards into Cain's chest. The Tin Man caught her about the waist and righted her as the blonde physician spoke rapidly.

"Do you know where the kitchen is?" Ainsley asked, motioning impatiently to Jeb to open the bag for her again.

"Yes," Cain replied, surprising the princess, still standing somewhat snugly against him. She craned her head to look at him questioningly, and he gave her a half-shrug. "Glitch and Raw were hungry while you got your beauty sleep." To the medic, he asked, "What do you need?"

She was rooting around in her bag, muttering again. "I need coffee or tea, something I can extract caffeine from."

"I'll go," Jeb offered, stopping when his father shook his head.

"It'll take too long for me to explain where it is. I'll go."

"I need water, too, please, and a few empty containers. And a mortar and pestle," the medic called after him, pulling several syringes out of her bag, along with a small plastic jar.

"What's your plan?" DG asked, still holding tightly to Azkadellia's hand.

"I can extract the caffeine from the coffee and tea and mix it with this," the blonde held up the jar, "after it's diluted in water. It's crude, but it should stimulate her heart. Increasing her heart rate will increase her blood pressure, and hopefully help her breathing, too."

"What is that, exactly?" DG's eyes widened slightly, wary.

"Citric acid. I take it everywhere, because it's got a dozen uses." Ainsley smiled reassuringly. "It'll work, Princess, I promise you. It'll buy me some more time to get her what she really needs."

"I trust you, MacGyver," DG replied, smiling again at the obviously confused looks Jeb and the medic shot each other. "Never mind."

After interminable minutes, Cain and Glitch reentered the room, arms laden with supplies. They set them down on the small table next to Azkadellia, and the Tin Man quickly rejoined DG, offering a tight but encouraging smile as he stood to her right. As the medic started to work feverishly, DG felt Cain's fingers brush against hers as he settled his hand against his thigh. With only half a thought, she curled her fingers over his, feeling the coolness of his wedding ring on her palm.

His hand beneath hers made her skin tingle warmly in a manner similar to what she felt when she and Azkadellia joined forces. And yet, it was completely different, making a different kind of rush hum through her body.

He turned his palm upward and laced their hands completely, squeezing her fingers encouragingly. She smiled her thanks at him, and he merely nodded, understanding in his eyes.

They both turned their attention back to the two blondes across the room, both of whom were bent over the tiny bedside table. Jeb was grounding something per the medic's soft spoken instructions, and the doctor was carefully diluting the acid with the kitchen water with her good arm, her other hanging limply at her side.

They turned holding a black, finely ground powder, which the medic set beneath Azkadellia's nose. With each breath, the eldest princess inhaled the concentrate. Once it was most of the way gone, the doctor listened to the brunette's heart again, and Cain's hand tightened on DG's.

Both of their bodies visibly relaxed when the medic stepped back with a satisfied look on her face. "It'll take time for the full effect, but I can already hear a difference."

DG felt like her legs might give out in relief. "Thank you, God."

"I'm still concerned about her breathing, though. I'd like to go look for those stores and see what I can find."

"We'll be here," Cain confirmed, scanning the room for a chair. Finding none, he turned to Glitch. "Think you could find something for the princess to sit on?"

DG answered first, her grin big and teasing. "But where will I sit?"

* * *

In the hallway outside Azkadellia's makeshift bedroom, Ainsley leaned exhaustedly against the wall. Jeb stood next to her after he closed the door silently, watching her carefully. "I can't decide whether to tell you how proud I am of you, or that you look like shit."

She laughed in spite of the pain and looked at him, her cheek resting against the cool marble as she looked at him. "Really?"

He looked confused. "Do you really look like shit?"

If she'd had the energy, she would have hit him. "You've never told me you were proud of me before."

His eyes narrowed in guilty disbelief. "What?"

She shrugged her good shoulder. "Guess it never came up." She pushed herself wearily off the wall. "Come on. We need to find those storage areas so I can figure out what else to pull out of my ass."

He caught her about the waist and turned her to fully face him, careful of her limp arm. "You were spectacular," he said quietly, kissing her gently.

The same look she'd seen in the interrogation tent was back, only magnified. It settled something excitingly foreign in her stomach, and she smiled. "Took you long enough to notice."

He didn't smile back. "I'm serious. I should have told you sooner."

"Thank you," she replied sincerely, and he nodded, kissing her swiftly again, then stepping back.

"All right, Doc, where to first?"

"We need to find somewhere to sit down."

"Why? Are you all right?" His eyes raced across her face in worry.

"I need you to reset my shoulder." At his look of outright panic, she used her good hand to grasp his. "I'll walk you through it. But the longer this remains dislocated, the worse it could get. And once it's back in place, I'll feel a hell of a lot better."

"Shouldn't we get Raw? He'd be of better use to you."

"I don't think he can heal bones, just soft tissue damage. Besides," she tightened her grip on his hand, "I trust _you_."

"Doc, I don't know…"

"I do. Come on." She led him down the hallway and came to a stop in front of a hastily abandoned office. "This looks good."

She'd never seen Jeb looking more worried than he did at that moment. As she pulled the chair from the desk, her heart broke a little when she realized that, in all likelihood, she'd never retrieve the chair he'd carved for her last birthday. His voice interrupted her thoughts as her hand curled over the chair back.

"I'll make you a new one. Hell, I'll make you a table and _four_ chairs."

She turned, grinning. "Now who's paying attention?" She sat down and took a deep breath. Using her good hand, she felt the front of the shoulder and confirmed her suspicions—she had an anterior dislocation. "Okay," she started as she curled her arm at the elbow, wincing at the movement, "I'm going to turn my arm and rest it across my chest. Then I'm going to need you to help me pop the joint back into place. When I tell you to, put one hand on my upper arm and keep it stationary. Okay?"

He exhaled a deep breath and then nodded, and, using her good hand, she moved her injured arm until it made an 'L' shape against her. She took several cleansing breaths, and then smiled slightly in what was meant to be encouragement. At her nod, Jeb grasped her upper arm tightly, his face leaning almost fully against hers as he reached over her.

She made a fist with her injured hand, and then held on to her wrist with her free one. "On the count of three, I want you to push on my arm and roll the shoulder back into place."

She felt more than heard his muffled, "Gods help me". "It's okay," she assured him. "It's gonna hurt like a bitch, but we need to do this, Jeb. Please."

He squared his shoulders, and his concerned visage dissipated beneath the necessity of the situation. "On three," he confirmed.

"One…two…three." She didn't hear the telltale pop over her agonized scream, but immediately felt the beautiful relief as the reset took properly. She swayed in the chair momentarily, and leaned forward, resting her head against Jeb's abdomen. As the white hot pain dissipated, she leaned back and rolled the shoulder. It remained achy, but a far cry from the pain she'd been in for the last hours.

She realized with a jolt that she had no idea what time or day it was. She started to laugh, and Jeb looked down at her concernedly. She shook her head dismissively, and then stood, returning the chair to its rightful spot. "Come on. We have a princess to heal."

* * *

After Glitch returned with two chairs, DG sank gratefully onto the plush piece of furniture. She let Azkadellia's hand rest next to her still body, and the youngest princess folded her own fingers, resting them against her mouth as she watched how little her sister's chest rose and fell with each breath.

She was half aware of Cain speaking to Glitch, and of the door closing. Through the sunlight streaming through the small window in the room, she saw Cain's shadow as it came to rest over her, and she dragged her eyes away from her sister and rested them on his concerned gaze.

"I'm fine," she said automatically.

"I don't doubt it," he replied evenly, sitting next to her.

She sighed and tilted her head, her dark curls catching in some of the loose strands of fabric on the chair back. "I feel so useless," she confided. "I can't help her, and I just have to sit here and hope the Longcoats had a CVS stashed away down here."

She expected a confused look in reply to her comment, but Cain surprised her in keeping his face neutral, though his eyes bored into hers, and she fought the urge to squirm beneath the scrutiny. "You can't worry about something you can't control," he said after a moment.

"That doesn't mean I don't," she replied, more harshly than she'd intended. But where someone else would be offended by her tone, Cain said nothing, and did not look slighted in the least. She sighed again and rubbed at her forehead. "This whole time, we had a goal. We may not have had a plan, but we knew what we were trying to do. Now, it's just wait and see mode, and it's…"

"Frustrating. I know."

"This is all my fault."

His hand found her shoulder instantaneously. "DG, don't. You'll go crazy if you keep playing with _what ifs."_

She turned her head to face him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I can't help it," she whispered, a sob hitching in her chest. She swiped angrily at her face, as though the dismissal of her outward emotion would discharge her inner turmoil.

"When I…after…when I was in the suit," Cain began haltingly, "I reran everything that had happened through my mind, over and over. Even when I learned to close my eyes from the projection, I'd still see and remember everything in my mind. I asked myself what I could have changed, what I'd have done differently." He looked down at his wedding ring, twisting it between his right hand fingers. "There were a thousand answers, a thousand different changes that could have saved my family. But, DG," he looked up at her, more open and vulnerable than she'd ever seen him, including the time they'd spent at Adora's grave, "thinking about that wasn't going to change anything. So I just tried to survive, and told myself to learn from my mistakes."

"Does it help with the guilt?" Her voice was almost a whisper, heavy with emotion.

He shook his head. "No. Nothing does. But it helps to know that there's tomorrow." He took her hand beneath his. "You can't change the past. What's done is done. Now you just try and put one foot in front of the other and move ahead."

"What happens if I fall?" The words slipped out before she could think them through.

His answer was equally honest. "I'll catch you."

* * *

Jeb and the medic returned to Azkadellia's room an hour later, with the former resistance leader pushing a cart nearly overloaded with supplies. They'd cleaned out both supply rooms of suitable items, and taken time to treat some of their own lacerations.

DG and Cain were sitting side by side next to Azkadellia's bed, and the younger woman had fallen asleep holding tightly to her sister's hand, as well as Cain's. The eldest princess was still sleeping, but her coloring was much improved. Her breathing also seemed to be less labored.

Jeb rolled the cart to the opposite side of the bed, and Ainsley got to work, donning rubber gloves and carefully mixing several liquids, and then drawing a tiny amount of the diluted mixture into a syringe.

Cain reached over and stirred DG gently awake, quickly avoiding her as she pulled her hand from his and swiped at him for intruding her dreams. He smirked at her as she came into full consciousness and sat up fully, running a hand through her unruly hair. "Did you find what you needed?" she asked the medic, ignoring Cain's amused look.

"Yes, we did," the doctor confirmed, pushing the syringe into Azkadellia's hip. "This fluid is a respiratory stimulant. It's a small dose, because we have to watch for some side effects, but it should be enough to get her to breathe better."

"When will we see the results?" DG asked, looking down at her sister, willing the older woman's lungs to expand.

As soon as the thought left her mind, Azkadellia took a noticeably deeper breath. DG's head shot up as she looked at Cain, whose eyes were wide in amazement, as they had been the first time he'd seen her make her doll from Tutor spin. "Did you do that?" he asked quietly.

"I have no idea," she replied, laughing lightly.

The four watched as Azkadellia's deeper breathing evened, and DG leaned back in her chair, somehow knowing the worst had passed. Looking at the blonde doctor, she asked, "How long until she wakes up?"

"I'd like to give her a mild sedative and pain killer to keep her unconscious for a little while. Her body needs time to heal, and then rest."

DG nodded, and Ainsley turned back to her supply cart, drawing a syringe full of liquid from a vial. She injected it into the eldest princess again, and then stepped back. "And now we wait."

DG looked up as Cain stood. "Where do you think you're going?"

He looked interestedly down at her, his eyebrows rising. "I was going to talk to your parents."

DG mentally slapped herself. "I'll go," she offered. "You've been up more than twenty-four hours straight, Cain. You need to sleep."

"Both of you do," the medic replied, looking at Jeb briefly before addressing DG again. "I'll stay with Princess Azkadellia until you return, Your Highness."

DG made a face. "I'm DG, okay? Just DG." The whole royalty thing was going to take a long time—and perhaps a few strong drinks—to comprehend.

The medic smiled. "As you wish."

DG rose from her chair, squeezing Az's hand one final time. Looking between Cain and his son, she said, "I think there are more bedrooms near where I slept last night."

Cain nodded. "I remember, Princess." Turning from the two blondes, he addressed her quietly. "You sure you don't want me to go with you?"

She smiled and brushed her fingers against his again. "You need to sleep," she repeated. "And you need some time with your son."

"You'll get me if you need anything." It wasn't a request.

"You know I will."

He seemed partially mollified, and after sweeping his eyes over her once more, he turned to his son. "Looks like they're throwing us out."

"Seems that way." Jeb offered a half-smile to his father, then leaned across and kissed the medic's cheek, murmuring something in her ear. She replied by rolling her eyes and pointing to the door with a shake of her head, the smile on her face contradicting her body language.

The two men followed DG out, and as they separated in the hallway containing the bedrooms, she couldn't help but laugh at how both men showed their discomfort in being left to their own devices to start a long-overdue conversation. Both looked down at their feet briefly, and then shoved their hands in their pockets. _If that's not a nature versus nurture debate buster,_ she thought, _I don't know what is._

She walked to the bedroom where Ahamo and the Queen--_your parents,_ she corrected mentally—were staying and knocked.

Her mother's voice answered immediately. "Come in."

DG pushed the door open and offered a smile as she entered. "Az is doing better. The doctor was able to find enough of the Longcoats' supplies to help her."

"Thank the stars," her mother replied, sinking to the bed in relief. As she sat on the duvet, paper rustled around her, and DG's eyes were drawn to the floor. The dark marble was littered with many crumpled balls of paper, and it reminded the brunette of many discarded drawings over the years.

The Queen noticed her daughter's gaze shift and sighed. "I'm attempting to prepare a proclamation about the events of the past few days."

"It's not going very well," Ahamo added with a rueful smile.

"You can't just say that Az was possessed, and that we destroyed the Witch?" DG took a step toward her mother, leaning down and picking up some of the discarded versions.

"The people will never believe that without the whole story," the Queen replied after a long moment and an even longer look at Ahamo.

"And we don't want them to have the whole story because then they'll know I'm responsible." DG understood the dilemma.

"Yes, my darling," her mother said sadly. "They'll come after you _and_ Azkadellia. We can't have that, especially when I am in no condition to rule."

DG removed her jacket and sat down on the bed. "How can I help?"

* * *

For a man who had so loathed the oncoming of darkness in the past, it was ironic how impatiently he waited for it to descend upon him now. But as the suns disappeared for their rest behind the horizon, and the first moon descended to take its watchful position, the man donned his hood, kissed his wife and daughter goodbye, and walked briskly to his destination.

The building had once been a place of happy, familial activity. The laughter of children and corresponding put-upon sighs of their parents had been replaced by whispers of wind as they blew through the broken window panes. The bright red paint that once beckoned like a beacon was chipped and greyed, just like the souls of all those who had once patronized the location.

The hooded man stood on the corner beneath a broken street light, watching as apparent strangers made their way into the abandoned building. When it was his turn, he stepped off the curb and hurried to the door, the billowing of his cloak shrouding him in momentary darkness.

He moved through the hallways, running his hand along a peeling chair rail, until he found a slight indentation in the wall. Looking down the hallway, checking to ensure he hadn't been followed, though the echoing of footsteps on the warped wood would have been warning enough, he pushed against the hidden door, his hand smothering the small catch of the magnetic lock.

The hidden room was smoky and hazy, but it still took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the relative brightness. Mismatched chairs and tables, pilfered from other locations in the community, were placed closely together. Most were already filled with representatives from each family, from the resistance. He found a spot in the back corner of the room, and joined his compatriots in watching the door, and each new arrival, carefully.

Once the room was filled to capacity, an older, grey-haired man stood at the front of the room. He held a folder in his right hand, and clutched the fingers of his wife in his left.

"This," he began, his voice raspy but not at all hesitant as he lifted the folder to the assembled crowd, "is a communication from the House of Gale. It confirms what our fighters have already told us: the Queen has returned and restored herself to the throne."

Disbelieving murmurs swept through the crowd. Fists banged on the rickety tables, sending rocking, scratching sounds against the floor. The leader raised his hand in a plea for silence, and waited for the stillness to settle back over them before he spoke again. "No explanation is given for the Queen's absence, or why the Sorceress still lives. Our requests for further information have been denied."

"What does the communication say?" Someone called from the crowd.

The leader's voice finally betrayed the anger that had been a constant companion to all of them for so long. He pulled the parchment from its folder and read aloud. "To the citizens of the O.Z., the annuals of darkness that have plagued us all have finally turned to light. The Royal Family has been restored to its rightful place. Thanks to the efforts of many, we may now begin to remember the lush, vibrant history of our home, and rebuild it in hopes of a better tomorrow. The Queen thanks those who never wavered in their support during these trying times, and pardons those who were forced to fight on a different side in hope of surviving. Long live the Royal Family. Long live the O.Z."

The silence shifted from stunned to angry in a microsecond. There was a great rumble as the assembly leapt to their feet, sending the rickety tables rocking across the scraped floor. Snippets of disbelieving utterances fought to rise above their brothers.

"That's _it_? What about our homes? What about our jobs?"

"They killed my son! Someone has to pay!"

Another voice called out, rising above the din and reaching the leader. "Are we sure this isn't a trick by the Sorceress?"

"We have little in the way of explanation," the leader replied, still holding tightly to his wife's hand. "Some of the resistance fighters who were at the Black Tower reported seeing something destroyed on the balcony. Others believed someone--or something--stopped the Anti-Sun Seeder's power, thus ending the eclipse. But those reports are unconfirmed."

"What _is _confirmed, Garrett?"

"The Queen and Consort were seen on the balcony after the eclipse, along with the Sorceress. There was a fourth person, a young woman. Her identity has yet to be confirmed."

Garrett's wife held up a wanted poster. "We believe it was this woman, and these three men, who infiltrated the Tower that day."

A murmur went through the crowd at the sight. "That's the Royal Advisor!" someone shouted.

Garrett nodded. "So it seems," he replied, "lending credence to the idea that the Queen has finally returned."

"We need more answers," Garrett's wife began.

"It won't be easy to get spies anywhere near the Queen," Garrett continued. "But we need to get close somehow. We need to ensure that this isn't another of the Sorceress' plans, or that the Queen hasn't been bewitched by the dark magic."

"What do you want us to do, Garrett?" A softer, female voice asked from the front row.

"That's why we called this meeting. We need ideas on how to reply. This," he held up the proclamation, "is garbage."

There was a great cheer as he crumbled the paper and threw it in the fireplace next to him.

"We'll use diplomatic channels, of course," Garrett's wife added once the cheers died down. "But if _that_," she motioned to the flickering, smoldering ashes in the fireplace, "is all we'll get through diplomacy, we need a back-up plan."

A shaking hand rose from the back of the room, and as Garrett acknowledged the speaker, the structure groaned as the rest of the occupants turned to face a middle-aged blonde woman, who was ashen and looked as though she could collapse at any moment.

Garrett's wife raced to her side and knelt down, her knees dirtying in the dust on the floor. "Emmeline, what is it?"

The blonde woman looked shakily between the leader's wife and Garrett, who remained at the front of the room. "That poster," she whispered, clearing her throat and raising her voice slightly in order to be heard, "May I see that poster again, please?"

Garrett joined his wife in the back of the room, placing the wanted poster to Emmeline's shaking hands. Her chin began to tremble, and tears flowed freely from her eyes as she gasped and covered her mouth. She looked to the man sitting to her right, who was equally pale, though his eyes were more cynical than those of his wife.

The stunned woman finally looked at the meeting leader. "This man," she said, pointing to the picture in the upper right hand corner of the flyer, "was he seen the night of the Eclipse?"

Garrett nodded. "Yes, Emmeline, we believe so."

"What is it, dear?" His wife asked gently, holding her compatriot's hand tightly.

"They told us he was dead."

"Do you know him?" Garrett's eyes were racing between Emmeline and her husband.

The blonde woman nodded. "He's our son-in-law."

_No,_ Garrett thought, _he's our ticket in._

End Chapter Five


	6. Through This Night I Wander

_Thanks, as always, to the phenomenal Alamo Girl, who keeps my tenses and points of view straight, thus resulting in less headdesking injuries to you all. Thanks as well to Meredith Paris and Padme for always being there, even though they know I'm crazy, and they should run far, far away._

_Disclaimer in Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Six: Through This Night I Wander**

"So."

"Yeah." Jeb looked out the bedroom window, watching as the suns started to set. The awkwardness he'd felt when he'd first realized his father was not only alive, but standing in front of him, buried itself within him with a ferocity that frightened him. He had always been a planner; able to read and react to the quickest of oncoming situations, but standing alone in a room with his father was a scenario he hadn't planned for.

He turned to look at his father, who had removed his hat and settled himself in a chair in front of the fireplace. The older man seemed outwardly relaxed, though the way he played with the brim of his hat betrayed his cool exterior. Jeb smiled inwardly. _I've been spending a little too much time with Doc._

"How long have you and the medic been together?"

His father's voice jolted Jeb out of his reverie, and intensified the uncomfortable air chilling the room.

"A little over an annual," Jeb finally replied, his eyes never leaving the dimming landscape outside. "She's been the cell medic for almost four."

"What took you so long?" There was a hint of familiar amusement in his father's voice, and it made Jeb unspeakably uncomfortable. Who was this man to act like no time had passed, when they'd both experienced enough to cover ten lifetimes in the span of their separation?

Jeb tamped down the urge to question his father's motives, and reminded himself of Ainsley's words. _He's got to mourn the son he lost, and celebrate the one he found._ Jeb tried to imagine what would go through his own mind if he'd been in circumstances similar to his father. _What if the rescue party hadn't found you? How would you explain who you'd become?_

Taking a deep breath, he turned partway, showing only his profile. "Mother and I were rarely at base camp. I was a spy and courier, and on the road more often than not. I never had time to get to know Ainsley until last spring."

There was a long pause before his father spoke again, and when he did, all traces of familiarity and mirth had left his tone. "Tell me about the cabin by the white elm."

"I'd rather not."

"Please, Jeb." There was a desperate edge to Cain's voice, and as son turned to finally face father, he finally saw the haunted man he'd been expecting to see from the moment they'd ambushed the Longcoats on the road.

Jeb sighed and set his lips into a thin line, trying to rope his thoughts into some semblance of order before launching into the story.

"After Ainsley's father died, the underground really suffered. We were never able to reestablish it to our satisfaction." Jeb moved from the window, pacing the room as he spoke. "When we heard Azkadellia was building a weapon, we needed that network back. I was already a spy, and a pretty good courier, so Mother volunteered us. We were the link between Lorraine and Ralph Emmersly and Patricia Horace. I completed a few assignments, and then, about six months ago, they asked us to set up house and move supplies and personnel. So they found us the cabin, and we set up there."

"What happened?" His father's question was no more than a whisper.

"Horace's son defected. When Zero found out where we were, that his lies about you hadn't stopped us from fighting, he sought us out. I wasn't there." The profound guilt shook Jeb's voice, and he had to clear his throat to continue. "I found her, lying there, bleeding to death. Zero was waiting for me when I got back, and locked me in the suit." He coughed, turning away from his father and wiping his eyes. "When the camp didn't hear from us for three days, they sent a search party. They got me out. Ainsley tried to revive Mother, but it was too late."

Jeb turned to the elder Cain, and was shaken to find his father's eyes full of tears, not expecting the outward display of emotion, though he should have. "She worked on her for close to an hour. I had to pull her off Mother." Despite the horrific memory, the younger man smiled. "She decked me good the first time I told her it wasn't going to work."

Cain chuckled, the noise gargled and thickened with unshed tears. "She reminds me of your mother."

Jeb nodded. "Mother loved her. In fact, there were times I thought she liked her more than she liked me."

"Never." The vehemence with which Cain replied startled his son. "She adored you."

"As she did you," Jeb replied, looking down at his father's wedding band. "The stories she used to tell…she never wanted me to forget who you were."

Cain pushed himself from the chair and began to pace the opposite side of the room, his footfalls matching Jeb's shuffling beat for beat. "Ralph told me you and your mother passed through there."

Jeb blanched at the implication, his heart plummeting to his stomach. "You thought she was still alive."

Cain nodded, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. "When I saw that grave marker…"

The former resistance leader clenched his fists uncomfortably at his sides. Finally, he pushed himself forward and awkwardly put a hand on his father's shoulder. "I'm sorry I failed her. I'm sorry I failed _you._"

Cain shook his head. "You didn't fail, son. Not in the least."

Jeb nodded. "I did. I let them get her, just like they got you."

"You aren't responsible for what other people do. Besides," Cain stepped away from his son's hand, forcing an uncomfortable half-smirk to his face, "I have a feeling your mother put up a hell of a fight."

"I should have done something more," Jeb insisted, walking away and sitting in the chair his father had previously occupied. "I keep seeing it. Seeing them beat her within an inch of her life…" He felt the tears threatening and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, counting the tiles in the floor as he stared down at them.

"I see it, too," his father replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We'll always see it. We'll always tell ourselves we should have done something else. But if we keep doing that, son, we'll never move forward."

Jeb's head shot up. "How do you even _think_ about moving on? She's barely been gone six months!"

Cain shook his head. "I didn't say we move _on_. I said we move forward. We try and cope the best we can. Your mother will always be a part of who we are. She'll always be around. I see her face every day. But she wouldn't want us to wallow. She didn't, when you thought I was dead. You take the hand you're dealt, and do what you can with it."

Watching his father closely, Jeb asked the question that had been on his mind for days. "Does this have something to do with DG?"

The Tin Man's icy eyes burned ironically into Jeb's face. "_What?"_

"Sounds like you're trying to convince yourself it's okay to move on with her." Jeb half-shrugged, trying to deflect his father's irritation.

"Son." Cain's tone was hard, matching the toughness in his gaze. "You can't honestly think—"

"Don't _tell _me what I think!" Jeb stood so suddenly that the chair toppled over with a loud bang. "Don't pretend like you know a damn thing about me."

Cain's mouth was a firm, tight line. "Then tell me who you are, Jeb."

"Answer my question first."

Cain sighed. "Jeb, I thought you were dead. I have since the minute they shut me in that suit. It's been eight annuals for me, son, not six months. Eight _annuals_, convinced the woman and son I loved more than anything in this wretched world were lost because of my mistakes. I had to find some sort of acceptance before I died, too." He looked unflinchingly at the younger man. "You were locked in that hell hole. You know how it can get, trying to survive. I never wanted to believe that you and your mother were truly gone, but thinking about the fact that you could be alive, and what could be happening to you—that was worse than accepting your deaths."

"You didn't answer my question." Jeb crossed his arms, hardened gaze meeting hardened gaze.

"What in the name of the gods do you want me to say?" Cain's eyes narrowed and darkened.

"I'm just trying to understand. You…eight annuals ago, you would have hunted Zero down and killed him like the dog he is. No questions asked or answered; you'd have been clean and efficient. But when you finally got the chance, you let him live. You gave him the second chance that he denied Mother. Your _wife._ It's like you had more regard for him than you did for her. It's like everything I held true was a lie."

"When DG…when I got out of that suit, that's exactly what I intended to do, Jeb. I went to Central City with the sole purpose of killing Zero."

"Then why didn't you? Why did you _stop_ me?" Jeb cried, tightening his bruised arms over his sore chest. The impact of the past day was rolling over him like a thick fog, but he refused to succumb and disappear within it.

"Because it wouldn't bring your mother back," Cain repeated. "It'd just make us like _them_. We've both lost a lot, but we haven't lost our sense of decency, not like the Longcoats did."

Jeb resumed his pacing, watching as the light reflected off the different tints in the marble floor. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. "I'm glad you're alive. I don't want you to think I'm not. I just don't know where to go from here."

"Neither do I, son," Cain replied.

"I wish I knew what to say to you," Jeb admitted, righting the chair he'd knocked over earlier. "There are so many questions I've wanted to ask you."

"I may not have all the answers, but I can try to explain," Cain replied, watching as Jeb sat down across from him.

"Why didn't you kill Zero in Central City?"

There was another pregnant pause as Cain considered his words. "I heard he was in a brothel, but when I got there, I'd just missed him. The prostitute told me where I could find him—at the Mystic Man's."

"So you followed him to the theater. Why not confront him there?"

Cain sighed inwardly. "I searched the building for him, but found DG with the Mystic Man first."

Jeb's posture toughened, and he gripped one arm of his chair tightly.

"He said DG's mother had lavender eyes. I knew who she was then."

"That she was a princess?" At Cain's affirming nod, Jeb asked, "How?"

"I saw the Queen visit with the Mystic Man a few times when I worked his detail. Her eyes are her identifying feature. When he said that, I knew she was the princess. The Mystic Man said her mother had left her a trail that would help her stop the Witch. She didn't remember anything, Jeb—her whole life before the Other Side doesn't exist for her. And I couldn't leave her with just a Headcase and a Viewer—not for something that important. She needed help; she could stop all the shit that had been happening here since you were small. That was more important than my personal vendetta."

"Sacrificing your own goals for the greater good." _Maybe he hasn't changed all that much._

Cain nodded, shrugging.

"Are you going to stick around the palace?"

"I don't know," the older man replied. "It's gonna take a lot to get this place up and running again. If they need me, I'll stay."

"You care for her."

"She's a pain in the ass."

Jeb smirked. "But you still care for her."

"I don't know how to answer that, son," Cain said honestly. "I haven't had time to think it through. My whole life, I've just wanted to help where I could. I did that this past week, and I'll do it as long as I'm relevant."

"She relies on you a lot."

Cain stared at his hands. "Yeah, I'm real good at getting her captured by mobats and locked in a tomb."

"She's alive," Jeb pointed out. "This time, she survived. Because of you."

"That she did," the elder Cain finally replied.

The uncomfortable silence settled over them again, and Jeb wrenched his hands together, turning his knuckles white. Abruptly, he stood, sending the chair teetering backwards again. "I'm going to go check on Doc. See if she needs a hand with anything. You know, with her arm…"

Cain nodded. "I'll see you later, then."

"Right." Impulsively, Jeb leaned down and gave his father a tight hug, identical to the one he'd broken through his barriers to give before they left base camp. After they separated, Jeb looked at his feet, a tinted blush rising to his cheeks. "I'll see you later."

He strode to the door as quickly as his sore body would let him, letting it shut softly behind him. He leaned against it, resisting the urge to beat his head against the metal.

* * *

The endless hallways of the Black Tower should have called to her like a siren's song, beckoning her adventurous, exploring spirit to their confines. Ten days ago, she would have answered, yielding to the desire to delve into the unknown.

Ten days ago, she thought she knew she was. Ten days ago, she'd held the truths in her life to be unalienable.

And then it had all gone to hell. Now she didn't know up from down, left from right, fact from fiction.

As she looked down the dark corridors, devoid of any human contact, she thought of how she'd come to rely on her companions as she had never done with anyone before. She'd always been an individual, both in opinion and in interaction; she had much preferred drawing or upgrading her motorcycle; quiet, personal things that allowed her time for introspection. She'd done well enough alone, and now, she couldn't find her footing without guiding hands.

She shouldn't rely on these people this way—they were, in essence, strangers, and all of them had been negatively affected by her at one point or another. Ambrose had been, for all purposes, executed and turned into Glitch; Raw had been hunted; Cain had been forcibly and cruelly separated from those he loved. She understood the Tin Man's horrors most acutely; she'd seen the people she considered her parents after they were taken from her and changed into familiar strangers. They were still there physically, but they did not remember her. She could tell them for hours about their lives together, stories they would not be able to recall, no matter how emphatically she told them.

The maelstrom was enough to make her head spin, and desperately seek out perspective.

Which is how she found herself standing in front of Wyatt Cain's bedroom door.

She knew she shouldn't rely on him to chase away the nightmares, or try to fix the irrevocably broken feeling inside her. But there was a sense of calm comfort around him, especially when fixated on her, that she knew would pull her from the tempest and try to take that first step forward, the one he'd promised her she could accomplish.

DG knocked tentatively against the bedroom door, flattening her palm against the surface while waiting for a response. She'd already checked in on her sleeping sister, receiving an update from Jeb, who had taken watch after the medic had collapsed into a fitful sleep, her body giving out on her. The young man had insisted that the princess rest as well, and the brunette couldn't help but marvel at the common efficiency with which the Cain men dispersed and looked out for her.

She heard a muffled response from within the confines of the bedroom, and pushed the door open slightly. She saw all the lamps still burning brightly and stuck her head further into the room.

Cain looked to his left and caught sight of her. "You okay, Princess?"

She nodded, pushing the door further. "I just wanted to see if you were as insomnia-ridden as I am."

He smiled at that. "Probably more." He cocked his head. "Why are you standing in the hallway?"

"Because you didn't invite me in, and I didn't want to intrude."

He rolled his eyes and beckoned her with a wave of his hand. "Come in, kid. This is your house, after all."

She snorted, walking inside and to him, letting the door fall shut behind her. "My house is a small farm in a place you've never heard of."

"Hard to make it all fit."

DG sat on the bed opposite Cain's chair, and warmth spread through her as their knees rested familiarly against one another. "Hard to make heads or tails of it," she agreed. "I'm supposed to remember this place, and these people, but the only thing I know is my name, and yours."

"At least that's a start."

DG regarded him closely before asking him the question he'd posed to her a hundred times during the past week. "Are you okay?"

Cain sighed, and for a moment, she thought back to the put-upon attitude he'd given her right after she and Glitch had released him from the suit. But as his gaze moved to his wedding band, and he turned it beneath his fingers, she realized his expulsion of air was not agitated, it was conflicted.

"Do you blame me?" Her voice was tentative, and scared.

Now he looked at her fully, eyes blazing, boring into her. "What?"

"For what happened to you, and Jeb, and Adora." She thought back to the cave, to the unfathomable despair she'd felt when she realized she was the reason the Witch had come to power, and that so many families, Cain's among them, had been destroyed. As she looked at him, she realized that feeling had never left her soul. "If I hadn't let go, none of the things that you've endured would have happened."

"I told you, DG, you were a child."

"That doesn't mean you can't hold me accountable." She rose from the bed and looked out the window. "I wouldn't blame you if you hated me."

He moved quickly behind her, settling his hands on her shoulders and turning her roughly to face him. "I don't hate you, DG. I doubt that I ever could."

"You should. You should want me strung up by my heels in Central City, just like all the other war criminals." Though her words were emotional, her cadence was efficient and detached, though she knew she was barely holding on.

He bent his knees to look her directly in the eye. "Do you really believe that?"

She nodded in spite of her tumult. "I saw what they did to you, Cain. And what Zero did to Adora. I know how it hurts me. I can barely fathom how it feels to you." She looked at her feet. "Somebody should pay for that."

"_Zero_ is paying for that. He's getting his justice." Cain's hands moved to her arms, but she pulled back, moving until her back rested firmly against the wall.

"I need you to hear me, Cain," she said, the words flowing from her mouth without thought or intent as the anguish took hold of her tongue. "I'm sorry for the pain I caused you. I'm sorry my actions took away your wife, your son's mother. I'm sorry you don't know your son. I'm sorry for getting you locked…" Her chin began to tremble, and she pressed a shaking hand beneath her nose, as though the intrusion would block the flow of tears. "I'm sorry for ruining your life, Cain. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He gathered her in his arms, tilting his head and resting it on her scalp. "DG, I forgive you," he whispered as she sobbed, and he caught her when her knees gave out. "I forgive you."

She shook her head vehemently, and tried to fight him, balling her fists and pushing at his chest roughly. "No," she whispered staunchly. When he refused to let go, her objections muffled against his vest, eventually dying into hitching breaths.

She looked up at him, eyes soaked with tears. "You can't forgive me when I can't forgive myself."

He sighed and pulled her back against him, arms wrapping tightly around her tiny waist, and palms settling against her back. "You gotta get out of that cave, DG. We need you _here._"

"I don't know how," she pleaded, sniffling as tears dropped to his leather vest and blackened the material. "It's all I can think about when I look at you. I see that horrible vision, of them beating you, and I just think…"

"What?" His grip tightened around her.

"I just think that I should leave you well enough alone, just leave and never look back. That way I won't let you down again."

His sigh ruffled her unkempt curls. "You haven't let me down yet, DG."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not." He pulled back and looked seriously, intensely at her. "I've always told you the truth, DG, whether you wanted to hear it or not. _You_ saved me. You saved the O.Z. You gotta see the big picture, kid. You made amends the minute you went to that balcony. The only reason I'm still alive is because of _you._"

Her eyes were as wide as he'd ever seen them. "Are you sure you forgive me?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

This time, she reached out, and they met halfway, folding themselves tightly within the other's arms. "I'm so sorry, Cain."

"I know, Princess. I know."

* * *

She really was beautiful, with the moonlight streaming across her like a personal spotlight. After their emotional encounter, Cain had guided DG to his bed, and she'd laid down exhaustedly, her protests interrupted by her yawns. He'd insisted she stay; he remembered her nightmares in the forest and in the resistance camp in the previous days, and he liked to think his presence helped abate some of the terror she felt.

She curled up, hugging one of the pillows tightly to her, and he sat, guarding her, in the chair.

He watched as her brow furrowed and her eyes raced back and forth beneath closed eyelids as she dreamed. When she cried out, pushing the pillow violently away from her, he knelt on the bed within an instant, running a hand over her hair and down her cheek. He called to her, urging her to wake up.

Blue eyes met blue eyes, and she tried to blink away the nightmare, though her body trembled for some time after he lay down next to her, their linked hands resting protectively against his chest. He watched her as she tried to fall back to sleep, though his own body was easing against the comfortable mattress and drifting toward sleep himself. He fought it as hard as he could, until he felt DG's free hand cup his cheek.

"Sleep, my Tin Man," she whispered, "I'll keep watch."

And she did, until the light of the first sun painted orange and red across the darkness of the room. She reached out to him only twice, her hand calming on his as the blackness of the nightmares threatened to overtake him.

There was a light knock at the door, and DG nearly yelped as Cain leapt to his feet, one hand automatically going for his holster, the other pushing her behind him and back onto the bed. He crossed the room as though he hadn't just been in a deep, solid sleep, and opened the door.

Jeb stood there, looking pale. Cain blocked DG from his son's view as he asked, "Are you all right, Jeb?"

"Two couriers just arrived with some correspondence you'll want to see." The younger man looked down at his feet. "And I can't find DG. I've looked everywhere."

"I have a feeling I know where she is," Cain replied. "I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes."

"We're meeting in Az—in the Sorceress's old office. Three floors down."

"I'll find you," Cain confirmed. "Whatever it is, Jeb, we'll deal with it."

The younger man nodded and turned, walking away without another word.

DG was up and righting her bedraggled clothes as Cain shut the door. Their gazes met again, and he smirked as she offered a shy half-smile. Finally, her sleep-addled voice broke the silence. "Thank you, Cain."

"I didn't do anything, Princess."

"Can't you just say 'you're welcome' and let us be on our way?" She put her hands on her hips, tapping one foot impatiently.

"Gotta keep you on your toes," he replied with a shrug. His eyes lit up as she grinned fully, and he saw her visibly relax, the weight of the shadows of the previous night disappearing with the moons.

"Our presence is requested," she finally said, walking to him and laying a hand on his forearm.

"Seems like it," the blonde man replied, opening the door. "After you, Your Highness."

"If you _ever_ call me that again, Wyatt Cain, I won't be responsible for my actions."

He smirked at the back of her head all the way to the office.

The Queen, Consort, Glitch and Jeb were already assembled when DG and Cain arrived.

"DG, my darling, where have you been? We've been worried." The Queen looked as though she hadn't slept at all, and the youngest princess felt a pang of guilt spread across her chest. It dissipated slightly as Cain rested a hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward.

"I fell asleep in one of the bedrooms," the brunette finally replied. "I'm sorry I worried you. It won't happen again." She sat down on one of the assembled, mismatched chairs, and Cain took up his position directly behind her. "How's Az?"

Jeb answered. "I just checked with Doc. She's doing well, considering."

"Good," DG replied. "I'd like to go check on her."

"Once we're done here," the Queen replied, and DG saw the calm efficiency she'd always expected a sitting ruler to have change her mother's demeanor. "We received a very interesting piece of correspondence this morning."

She reached across and handed a folded, heavy piece of parchment to DG. As the brunette made to open it, her mother stopped her. "It's for Mr. Cain."

Cain looked almost as surprised as DG, but the princess handed him the letter. It took all of her remaining willpower not to stand up and read over his shoulder. She did, however, rise when she felt the shaky exhale on the back of her neck. She stood next to him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and he handed her the paper.

She scanned the beginning quickly, and forgot to cover her gasp with a hand over her mouth. "Adora's parents?" she managed, looking between father and son. She hadn't considered the woman's family might still be alive, surviving when their daughter did not. The culpability and remorse settled anew over her, and she felt the burden press heavily on her shoulders.

"They want to see us," Jeb said, looking absently at the door.

DG looked up at Cain, trying to gauge his reaction. He remained resolutely stoic as ever, and she had to tamp down her frustration at her inability to read him. "Where are they?" she asked softly, and Cain cleared his throat before continuing.

"Says here they're on the border with Munchkin Country. A few days' ride at most."

"You should go," she said, looking again between the two Cain men. "They'll want to see you're okay."

"That'd leave you unguarded," Cain replied, his torment obvious.

"We'll be fine," DG said dismissively, looking at her parents. "Right?"

The Queen tried to smile reassuringly. "That's why we wanted to speak with both of you gentlemen," she said, watching Jeb and his father carefully. "Family comes first. But we need a plan on how to protect my daughters. The proclamation I issued is reaching the edges of the land, and the response has been less than positive."

"What?" DG asked dumbly, staring openly at her mother. "I don't understand."

"People want answers, DG," Ahamo replied for his wife. "We left that notice intentionally vague. Some parties have responded favorably, and have offered their services. But most are unsatisfied."

"We've asked those interested parties to come here and be sworn in as the temporary royal guard," the Queen continued. "But they will not arrive until tomorrow at the earliest."

"If the new resistance lets their couriers through at all," Jeb added.

"New resistance?" _Jesus,_ DG thought, _how long did I sleep?_

Jeb looked outright distressed, almost distraught. "My old company, and others in the Resistance, are regrouping, possibly for an attack. They know Azkadellia's alive, and they're out for blood."

"Oh, God." DG sank back into her chair. She looked at the young man across from her. "Do you think they'll actually attack us?"

"Yes," Jeb replied without hesitation. "Look what they did to me and Doc."

Though his bruises were fading, even in the dim morning light, the princess could still see the marring yellows and greens of his torture. "How many people have said they'd be willing to fight?" DG asked her parents, an uncomfortable, nauseating feeling settling in her stomach.

"Not enough to mount a counterattack," Ahamo replied. "We're sitting ducks."

"Then we need to move! Do _something_!" DG looked up at Cain, as though his depthless eyes would hold the correct answer.

"We can't move your sister in the condition she's in. Besides, we're at the center of the realm here. It's the best seat of power. Finaqua and the Northern Palace are too remote." Ahamo rested his hand on his wife's shoulder. "We'll take any tactical advice you gentlemen can offer," he continued, looking between Jeb, Cain and Glitch.

"The best thing we can do now," Cain started, still looking at the parchment resting in his hand, "is wait. Wait for the few reinforcements we have to arrive, and then let the resistance make the first move. We need to see how far they're willing to go. If they approach the palace, then you can enter into negotiations before any bloodshed happens. If they don't, we let more time pass, and you can issue another notice with the details as you see fit, Majesty." He looked fleetingly down at the top of DG's head, and somehow, she knew the exact moment his eyes shifted back to her family. "Jeb and I will stay here until enough men arrive."

"Captain Cain, I'd like you to reach out to your contacts, see if anyone from your travels will join us," the Queen requested, and Jeb nodded.

"Of course, Your Majesty," the young man replied. "I'll get to work on that immediately."

"Mr. Cain," the Queen continued, looking directly at the older man, but not before her eyes glanced below him at her daughter, "I'd like you to converse with Ambrose about setting up perimeter guards once we have a better understanding of how many citizens still support us. Once a plan is in place, I'll wish you godspeed on your journey."

Cain nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Very good." The Queen rose from her seat, and Jeb and Glitch stood as well. "I'm going to spend time with my daughter. DG, would you assist these gentlemen in any capacity they require?"

DG nodded, and her mother pressed a hand to her shoulder as she, Ahamo and Glitch walked past. Once her parents had left the room, the youngest princess slumped in her chair. Images of games like _Risk_ and _Stratego_ bounced colorfully in her mind, and she winced at the irony of remembering how much fun strategy and imaginary war had been when she was younger.

Now there were homes, people, places, faces to consider. There was real bloodshed, not just plastic blue and red pieces that she could right without repercussion once they'd been knocked over. She pressed the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose, and distractedly covered Cain's hand with her own once his fingers found her shoulders.

Jeb's eyes scanned between his father and the princess, and he coughed lightly and uncomfortably before addressing them. "I'm going to go," he said, the other two parties only half-hearing him. "I'll let you know once I hear anything."

Once they were alone, DG rose from her chair and stood close to Cain. His free hand came around her waist of its own volition. His eyes remained on the flowing penmanship on the paper in front of him, and he expelled a shaky breath. "I didn't even think about them," he said after a long moment. "Didn't even think that we should try to find them."

"Well, you've been a bit busy," DG replied softly.

He looked down at her, eyes serious. "Are you going to be all right if I go?"

"I survived for twenty-some odd years without you, Cain," she said with a grin, trying to lighten both their moods. "I think I can handle a few days alone."

"Because that worked so well for you this past week," he replied, a knowing, teasing glint in his eye. "I won't go if you don't want me to."

Hesitantly, she cupped his cheek. "I want you to. They really want to see you, and Jeb. You deserve that much." _Especially given what I've taken from you._ "Besides," she continued, "I have faith that we'll get enough manpower to keep me out of trouble."

"Princess," Cain replied with a full grin, "there ain't enough men on _either_ side to do that."

* * *

By the next morning, almost a hundred men and women had arrived at the palace offering their services. Kalm and Raw had read each of them, gauging their true intentions. Those deemed physically able had been sworn in as members of the hastily assembled royal guard. It was ragtag to say the least, but DG marveled at the grace and dignity with which her mother handled the untenable situation.

DG looked out of her sister's room at the armed guards patrolling the perimeter. The captured Longcoats had left them with a few armored vehicles and plenty of munitions, and the men now guarding her family marched efficiently, though few in number.

There was a knock at the door and Cain smiled briefly when she turned and bade him entrance. He looked down at Azkadellia, whose color and breathing had continued to steadily improve. "Jeb and Doc are going through the replies from his contacts," DG informed him, meeting him halfway across the room.

Cain nodded. "I know. I saw them on my way up here." He looked down at the sleeping Azkadellia. "How's she doing?"

DG nodded, trying to smile encouragingly. "She's doing much better. I'm trying to focus my magic and help her heal. I don't know how much good it's doing."

"You just being here is good for her, kiddo," Cain replied. After a moment, he continued. "Jeb and I decided we're going to ride out today, once he's finished looking through the replies."

He knew DG well enough to catch something mimicking disappointment cross her face as he looked down expectantly at her. "That's great," she finally replied. When she said nothing further, Cain raised his eyebrows, and she smiled. "I have no idea how to encourage you to talk to your in-laws."

He chuckled. "I don't suppose you've had many dealings with in-laws."

"I'm barely managing the idea of two sets of parents. Adding in-laws to the mix? No, thank you."

"They're good people."

"I have no doubt about that." Her face was so soft in the afternoon light, and he had to look away before he was blinded. Thoughts like this had barraged him of late, and it unsettled him. He was supposed to be a tough-as-nails Tin Man, someone who didn't deal in feelings or introspection. He was a man of purpose, driven by nature's most inherent, basic instincts. He barely stopped to consider how other people felt, let alone how _he_ felt.

But since he'd met this girl standing in front of him, he found himself analyzing her actions and words, as well as his own. He found himself needing to touch her, as though he could concentrate better once he'd done it. When she trained those blue eyes on him, something familiar, and yet forgotten, settled and warmed within him. And he didn't like where the thoughts were leading him.

"I should get going," he finally said. "Jeb's waiting."

The flash of disappointment returned, scurrying quickly to hide itself behind her eyes. "Don't worry, Princess," he said, offering the half-smirk that seemed to always calm her, "I'll be back before you can miss me."

She wagged a finger at him. "Don't say that. The last time you did, you had to rescue the rescue party." She crossed her arms indignantly. "And you keep telling me _I'm_ the one with the penchant for getting into trouble."

Against his better judgment, he reached out and took her hand. "Please try and keep your troublemaking to a minimum while I'm gone. I've got enough to worry about. I don't need you gallivanting all over the place, trying to play war hero."

"I make no promises." At his insistent look, she relented. "Fine, fine." She raised her free hand and put her fingers into a Girl Scout pledge formation. "I promise to try not to get into trouble. And if I do, it will be for a perfectly legitimate reason."

"Why do I think your definition of 'legitimate reason' differs greatly from mine?"

She grinned. "You'll have to come back to find out, Tin Man."

There was a small rap at the door, and both DG and Cain turned to find the medic standing sheepishly in the doorway. "I'm sorry," she said, "but Jeb's ready when you are, Mr. Cain."

"Thanks," he said, and the blonde medic retreated into the hallway, giving them privacy. "Well," Cain said after a minute. "I'd better get going."

"Yeah." DG reached forward and hugged him. "Be safe."

"You too, kiddo." He rubbed her back, the ease with which he did so troubling him further. "I'll be back before you know it."

As he walked away from her, sparing a half-second glance over his shoulder, he caught sight of something much more than disappointment on her face. It looked almost like fear, as though she intuitively knew he was walking blindly into the lion's den, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

He'd regret not turning around and finding out what troubled her so.

End Chapter Six


	7. Stranglehold

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* * *

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Author's Notes: Big, glompy hugs and a shrine to the incomparable Alamo Girl, not only for her phenomenal beta work, but for the ever fantastic Red Sox t-shirt wall scene that still makes me GUH out loud, no matter how many times I read it. I love ya, honey.

_To Padme, Meredith and everyone who's commented thus far—thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me. _

_Disclaimer in Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Stranglehold**

The assault of the sunlight would have made her head hurt, had it not been pounding already. The brunette winced, and tried to move her hand to shield herself from the onslaught, but found her limbs heavy and virtually immobile. She pursed her lips, turning her head gently and slowly to stare at her right arm, willing it to move. When it finally lifted a few millimeters off the bed, she grunted in pain and let it drop to the bed with a muffled sound.

A kind face entered her field of vision, but it took a double take for her to understand who it was.

"Don't worry, Your Highness," the medic said. "I've given you a combination of pain reliever and muscle relaxant. You'll feel out of sorts for a little while longer."

Azkadellia licked her chapped lips, and the blonde resistance fighter reached behind her, picking up a glass of water. The blonde helped the princess sip from the cup, and rapped her on the back when she tried to swallow too much and started sputtering.

"Jesus, Az, you're not a fish. Take it easy."

Azkadellia turned to face the newcomer, and smiled brightly as the doctor helped her into a sitting position. "I was thirsty," she managed in a hoarse, raspy voice.

"Good things come to those who wait," DG teased back, sitting down in her watchman's chair, situated next to the bed. "You look like shit," she proclaimed, causing the medic to try, and fail, to stifle a loud chuckle.

Az rested against the pillows, watching the medic as she took her pulse and blood pressure. "I would probably agree with your assessment, little sister." She looked back at DG, who had deep circles beneath her eyes. "How long have I been out?"

"Almost four days," the medic replied when DG did not. "I kept you fairly heavily medicated. I wanted to give your body a chance to heal. Though I think your sister did most of the work."

"Looks that way," Azkadellia murmured quietly. "Deege, are you all right?"

The younger princess nodded. "Just tired, Az. I haven't slept much the past two weeks."

"Something on your mind?" the older woman joked softly, and smiled wider when DG finally grinned back.

"Just a few things," DG confirmed, albeit evasively. "Seriously, how are you feeling?"

"Like I went fifteen rounds in the Realm of the Unwanted and lost miserably."

"You'll feel that way for a few more days at least," the medic informed her, and Azkadellia turned to face the blonde woman fully. "But I was able to procure some additional pain medicine should you need it."

"I'd like to catch up with my sister," the older princess requested. "I have a feeling I've missed something."

The blonde medic and the younger princess exchanged a significant look before the doctor spoke again. "Very well, Your Highness. But please don't let the discomfort get too out of hand. I don't want to give you too much pain medicine in an attempt to catch up with the pain. Too much could stifle your breathing, and then we'd be back where we started."

"Thank you, Doctor Lowry," Azkadellia said, trying not to wince at the still-apparent bruises and lacerations marring the woman's face.

"You can call me Ainsley, if you wish, Highness," the blonde replied.

"Ainsley?" DG's eyebrows reached her hairline. "Really?"

The blonde looked momentarily uncomfortable. "It was my mother's maiden name."

"It's so girly," DG replied, only half-thinking in her worried exhaustion, and obviously relieved for the change in topic. "You're not a girl."

"I think Jeb Cain might disagree with that assessment," Azkadellia corrected her sister, causing DG to sputter with laughter, though her sister caught the fleetingly surprised look on the younger woman's face, as though she hadn't expected to remember how to laugh. The blonde merely smiled, collecting her things.

"Let me know if you need anything," the medic said, curtsying at both girls before leaving the room.

Once the door shut behind her, Azkadellia folded her hands and rested them primly on her stomach. Had she not been so pale, or confined to bed, one would find her the epitome of royal grace. "Spill it, little sister."

DG sat back in her chair, rubbing her forehead. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything." At her sister's silence, Azkadellia continued. "We may have been separated a long time, DG, but I can still tell when something's bothering you. What's going on?"

Both girls jumped at the rapport of gunfire as it blasted outside the tower. Azkadellia turned with wide, scared eyes and demanded of her sister, "What's going _on_, DG?"

"We've fortified the walls with volunteers. About sixty-five or seventy in number."

"Fortified the walls against what?"

DG sighed. "There are indications that the resistance are preparing for an attack."

Had she not already been feeling lightheaded, that news would have brought the eldest princess to her knees. "They want me."

DG couldn't lie. "I think so, yes. And the Qu—Mother, to some extent. We issued a press release, but kept it ambiguous, thinking that most people would just celebrate the Witch's demise and get on with life."

"They deserve retribution."

DG's eyes toughened. "Not against you, they don't. If they want a scapegoat, they can have me."

"Don't be ridiculous." Azkadellia looked away disgustedly, and guiltily, for a moment. "Mother is in no state to rule. I still have my magic, but no one will have me on the throne. You're the last in the line. You _have_ to rule."

"I'm the reason this whole damn thing happened in the first place! Why doesn't anyone understand that?" DG rose and started pacing the room, the squeaking of her sneakers intensifying the rhythmic pulsing in her sister's head.

"Be that as it may, DG—would you _please_ sit down?" Az rubbed at her temples. "You are the only one sufficient to rule. I'm sorry to say you don't have a choice in the matter."

DG sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and picking at loose strands on the duvet. "I know that," she finally admitted. "I just can't seem to wrap my brain around it. Az, I fix turbines and motorcycle parts, not countries."

Az reached for her hand and tightened her fingers around the younger woman's knuckles, the white, pulsing light of their magic mixing and making her momentarily stronger. "Then we'll do it together. They'll ignore the crazy girl behind the curtain if we hide me well enough."

DG didn't smile. "Don't talk like that. Please."

Azkadellia looked concernedly at her sister. "DG, what's going on? This is a terrible situation, but I feel like there's something else bothering you."

DG sighed. "Cain and Jeb went to visit Adora's parents two days ago. I just…I have this feeling that something's wrong. I have since before they left."

Az tried to keep her tone gentle. "Could your discomfort be because you miss him?"

DG shook her head. "It's more than that, Az. I feel like I should be yelling '_trap_!' as loud as I can, but nobody's listening. It's like this little voice in the back of my head telling me something is off about this whole thing." She started to pace the room again, and Azkadellia winced as the squeaking resumed. "The timing is just a little too convenient, you know?"

Az chose to ignore her sister's confirmation that she missed the elder Cain, though she filed it away for later questioning. "If you were that concerned about their well-being, why didn't you go with them?"

The squeaking ended suddenly, only to be followed by a loud, continuous scraping of rubber sole on marble as DG turned hastily and gaped at her sister. "Uh, hello, you in a coma? That kept my interests pretty focused the past few days."

"Are you having any dreams? Premonitions?" At her sister's shaking head, Az pursed her lips again. "You've been through a lot the past two weeks, Deege. Your unease could be a reaction to that, and not necessarily to the Cains' current situation."

DG put her hands on her hips and glanced out the window, her tone defiant. "I don't think so, Az. Something's wrong."

The certainty with which her sister spoke troubled the eldest princess. "You could send scouts, or a search party."

DG shook her head, walking to the window and looking unseeingly past the glass. "We don't have enough manpower to spare anyone. Besides, all I know is that they were on the border with Munchkin Country. I wouldn't even know which way to go."

"I'm sure they're fine, Deege." The reassurance was hollow at best.

The windowpane shook as their mismatched army practiced with their munitions. DG stepped away, unable to watch the once bright landscape, the same sunshine that had warmed her face just a scant few days earlier, as they both dimmed before her dulled eyes. She sat down in the chair next to Azkadellia's bed, her once light eyes meeting her sister's dark, wise ones. "Have you ever just _known_ something was wrong? Have the hairs on the back of your neck just stood up, and you knew in your gut something was off?"

"Yes." Azkadellia didn't elaborate, for the last time she remembered having such a feeling was the day she and DG discovered the cave.

"So I'm not crazy?"

"Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far." At her sister's defeated half-smile, Azkadellia reached across and took her sister's hand beneath her own. "There's no use in worrying yourself ragged, DG. They can take care of themselves."

"I know. But that doesn't stop me from worrying."

Azkadellia was silent for a long moment, enough that DG took notice and looked curiously at her. "Az?"

"I never thanked them. Or you."

DG's brow wrinkled. "Thanked me for what?"

"Saving my life." Az looked down at her hands. "For saving all of us."

DG leaned over and ducked her head, making sure to catch her sister's gaze. "You don't ever have to thank me for that, Az. Or the others. We were just doing what was right. Besides," she looked away uncomfortably, "if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have needed saving."

"This is going to become a sick cycle, isn't it?" Az smiled briefly.

"Probably," DG agreed before sighing and looking toward the window.

"A watched pot never boils," Az told her, and the younger princess returned her gaze to her sister. "He'll be back soon."

"He better," DG muttered, and Az watched as her sister's eyes darkened in apprehensive thought.

"Is there something I should know?" Azkadellia was magnificent in keeping her tone lightly neutral.

DG stared at her sister. "About what?"

"You and Mr. Cain," the eldest princess replied evenly.

"No!" At the perfect, disbelieving quirk of her sister's brow, DG slumped. "I rely on him a lot. Az, you gotta see this from where I'm standing—he's one of the only people I know here. We've been through a lot together, and he…he protected me when he didn't need to. He stuck by me when I had no one else."

"So did Ambrose and Raw," Az pointed out.

DG stood and started to pace the room, and Azkadellia cursed her curiosity as the blasted squeaking began anew. "Cain and I talked a lot. Well, _I_ talked a lot, and he listened, as we drove to the Northern Island, and after Finaqua. Az, you remember things I don't even have the inclination to imagine, let alone relive. To me, my parents are Hank and Emily, not the Queen and Ahamo. My house is a farm in Kansas. I just…I may not have realized it there, but that was _my_ life. Mine. I knew up from down and left from right. Now I have no idea where to begin. Cain's in the same boat."

"You're kindred spirits," her sister remarked. "I can understand your attachment to him. I just worry that it's turning into something more."

DG turned, hands on hips, eyes blazing. "What if it did?"

Azkadellia kept her face neutral. "Do you want it to?"

"Answer my question first."

Her sister finally grinned. "I'd say good job and godspeed."

DG laughed briefly, momentarily calmed. "They're fine." It was a question, trying its damndest to be a reassuring statement.

"They'll be fine, DG. Just like you."

* * *

Every broken branch, every whistle of the wind, every shadow that crossed into the small cabin caught the older woman's attention. Her blonde hair flung backwards each time she looked eagerly to the window. When she saw the source of the sound, perhaps a bird or butterfly fluttering their wings, anticipation seeped further into her, nervous energy causing her to abandon and resume her knitting half a dozen times.

"They'll be here soon, Emmeline," her husband assured her, walking in from the small sitting room.

She sighed and looked up from her seat at the small kitchen table. "Are we doing the right thing, William?"

Her husband replied without hesitation. "Yes, my dear."

They both turned and looked as the sound of horse hooves broke the relative stillness. Emmeline rose from her chair and watched two similar blond forms straddling two horses approach the house. The butterflies that had been hovering outside settled in her stomach as she approached the front door and wrenched it open.

She didn't recognize the men standing in front of her, and yet, it seemed that no time had passed since she'd seen them.

The three stood meters apart, openly appraising each other. Finally, Jeb took a step forward, and Emmeline rushed to greet him, enveloping him in a tight hug. "Look at you," she whispered, releasing him briefly and searching his face for signs of her daughter. "Oh, I can't believe I'm looking at you, my darling boy."

"Hello, Grandmother," Jeb replied uncomfortably. When the older woman finally pulled back, he stepped away, eyes scanning the small plot of land. The older woman watched him, memories flooding her vision as she appraised the young man in front of her. He'd spent so much time here as a young boy; he'd learned to swim in the small pond behind the house. Emmeline could still hear his shrieking laughter as his father threw him into the water from the dock, and as the wind rustled the elm leaves beside him, she swore she heard her daughter's half-hearted admonishments to her son-in-law. When the breeze stopped, she remembered how Wyatt would just grin and throw his wife right in after their son.

She blinked away the memories, and they were replaced by tears as she stared at her son-in-law. "Oh, Wyatt."

Cain offered a small smile before allowing the woman to embrace him just as tightly as she had Jeb. "I never thought I'd see you again," she whispered, tears staining his shirt. "I thought…"

"I know," Cain replied, patting her back awkwardly.

Emmeline sniffled and swiped embarrassedly at her eyes, then wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, come inside, both of you. I'm sure you must be tired from your travels."

"Thank you," Cain said, turning to face Jeb. "Coming, son?"

Jeb nodded absently and followed the two into the small cabin. William was shaking Cain's hand heartily when the younger man shut the door behind him.

"Sit, sit," the older man ordered, and Cain and Jeb took seats on either side of the fireplace. William and Emmeline sat on a settee across from them, and an unnerving silence fell over the foursome.

"I suppose we should thank you," Emmeline finally said, and Jeb jumped a little as the stalemate broke.

"For what?" Cain asked, removing his hat and placing it on a side table.

"Your adventures are becoming legend," William said. "How you helped stop the Sorceress. How you're staying with the royal family."

"You've heard all that?" Jeb sat back in his chair.

"You're rather famous," Emmeline confirmed with a proud smile. "What a sight it must have been, you two fighting side by side. Adora would have been so proud."

The Cain men both looked at the floor at the mention of the dead woman's name. Emmeline and William exchanged a look before the older woman spoke again. "I don't suppose you boys have had much time to reconnect."

Cain glanced at Jeb, whose eyes remained on the floor. "Not yet," he admitted. "But there'll be time for that soon enough."

Emmeline smiled. "Absolutely right, dear Wyatt. Now," she clapped her hands and stood, causing Cain to rise with her, "Who's hungry?"

The flurry of activity in the kitchen drowned out the awkward silence permeating the rest of the house. Pots and pans clanged with wooden spoons as Emmeline started cooking. The three men remained in the sitting area as she hummed her way through dinner preparations.

When she finally called to the men, informing them dinner was ready, the suns had started to descend, leaving a trail of blue hues behind them. Jeb and Cain sat on opposite sides of the small table, and Emmeline and William sat at either end.

His grandmother laughed when she heard Jeb's stomach rumble as his eyes raked over the mountain of food in front of him. "I don't suppose the palace has instituted any cooks yet."

Jeb shook his head, filling his plate. "There's only a handful of people there. Servants aren't high on the list of priorities."

"Why stay at the Black Tower?" William inquired, passing Cain an overflowing dish of vegetables. "Doesn't the Queen want to get back to the palace? I'd want to get the hell away from anything to do with the Sorceress."

"Azkadellia's not well," Jeb replied. "They're waiting on Doc to clear her to travel. It's easier to stay right now."

"Doc?" Emmeline asked, cutting into her meat.

Jeb blushed. "One of my medics. She's helping out."

Emmeline shared a knowing smile with Cain, feeling her heartbeat start to race. Her stomach was tight, and not because of her meal. She rose abruptly from the table, causing all three men to look at her concernedly. She tried to form an excuse, but found none. Instead, she hurried to the kitchen corner, leaning against the splintering wood for support.

"Emmeline?" Cain walked up quietly behind her. "Are you all right?"

She tried to nod, but felt the tears threaten, catching in her chest. "I miss her so," she whispered, and heard her son-in-law sigh.

"I do, too," he replied quietly. "I keep expecting her to walk through that door."

Emmeline turned to face him, though her gaze remained on her apron, watching as her hands twisted in the fabric. "I don't know what's worse, Wyatt; knowing you've thought she was dead for eight annuals, or the fact that she really is gone."

Cain sighed again. "I got my hopes up when they said she was alive. Seeing that grave…"

"It was like she died all over again, and that hope died with her." Jeb had come into the kitchen, leaning against the stove.

Emmeline watched as father and son exchanged a tentative look, one meant to be a peace offering. "She would be so proud of you," she repeated, her voice stronger now. "_I'm_ proud of you. You've both sacrificed a lot."

A faraway look momentarily passed over Cain's face before the mask slipped in behind it, shutting him off to her. "We all have."

Emmeline nodded, and then looked over at Jeb, who was watching his father intently, but also seemingly impassively, though she could see something intense, but something she could not name, behind his eyes. "So tell me about this Doc, my boy."

Jeb blushed again. "Not much to tell."

Emmeline wagged a finger at him. "Don't you lie to me, Jeb Cain. I want to hear about her."

"You'd like her," his father interjected. "Reminds me of Adora."

The anxiety in her stomach doubled, and the older woman looked over her shoulder and out the small window over the sink. She chewed her lip as she mulled her decision. When she stepped forward to Cain, her eyes were sure, dark and forceful. "Get out of here."

Cain's brow creased. "Excuse me?"

"Leave. Now."

Cain searched her face keenly. "Emmeline, what's going on?"

"Please, Wyatt, just _go_!" Her pleading admonishment was too loud, and she winced as she heard William come from the other room.

The cocking of the gun caused both Cain men to turn and stare worriedly at the older man. "Sit," he ordered coldly. When no one moved, he pointed the barrel of the rifle at Cain's head. "I said _sit._"

They walked back into the sitting area, the old floorboards creaking in resignation. Jeb and Cain sat on the sofa, glancing quickly at one another, trying to gauge the situation. William kept the gun trained on them until there was a knock at the door.

When Garrett stepped through the front door, Emmeline could see he had not come alone. There were dozens of her fellow resistors outside, carrying torches to light their path in the stillness between the setting of the suns and the full rising of the moons. The new resistance leader's eyes were as cold as she'd ever seen them, and she could feel her daughter's intense, disapproving gaze chilling her along with Garrett's presence. She stepped forward, surprising William, but not enough that he lost focus on their ultimate goal.

"There's got to be another way," she implored both men, despair dropping her shoulders as Garrett shook his head.

"We haven't received a reply from the Crown yet. It's been long enough. We have to take action."

"William, _please_," Emmeline beseeched her husband. "I know we want to punish the bastards who killed our daughter, but they're _family_. We can't do this. It's not right."

William did not waver. "We have to do what we have to do, Em. You're either with us or against us."

"Think of Adora. What would she want?"

"She'd do everything in her power to right the wrongs against her family." William turned to face the older blonde woman fully. "You heard the same reports I did, my dear. They let the Sorceress live. They let our daughter's _murderer_ live. The Crown is ignoring us, and we need help to rebuild. We have to do _something_ to get their attention. This is the only way."

She looked over her shoulder at the two blond men, sitting stiller than stone in her living room. Two men she thought she'd never seen again. Two men who wanted to move forward just as much as she did. They were just going about it the wrong way, and with the wrong help.

Defeated, she stepped aside and let Garrett approach father and son.

* * *

DG had not slept in nearly three days. Cain and Jeb still weren't back from their trip to see Adora's parents, and the feeling of dread had only intensified the longer they were away.

She was in Azkadellia's room, reading a random book from the small library she'd found tucked away in the back of the tower, when her mother came in, looking pale and shaking. It was the first time she had ever seen her mother that unhinged. Her heart dropped to her stomach, beating wildly, trying to escape its confines.

Azkadellia noticed it too, and was quicker to question. "Mother? What's wrong?"

The Queen's lavender eyes were dark and laden with tears. She did not move until Ahamo stood directly behind her, supporting her weight with his own. "We have received a ransom letter," she finally managed, her emotion thickening her accent.

It took DG a moment to understand her mother's words, but she did not comprehend their meaning. "What do you mean, ransom?"

The Queen nodded, looking sorrowfully at DG. "My darling, I am so sorry."

The youngest princess stood, facing her mother completely. "Why are you sorry?" Her words were timid, and her voice dropped with each syllable.

Ahamo put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Tell her," he said quietly, also scrutinizing his youngest daughter. It was enough to unnerve her and make her take a step back.

"Tell me what? What's going on?" DG looked down at Azkadellia, who seemed just as confused and worried as she was.

"The resistance fighters of the East have banded together against us," her mother began. "They were the most vocal in response to our proclamation. They feel their demands for a meeting and reclamation have not been met."

DG scoffed, though her concern kept her body rigid. "We've been a little busy."

The Queen straightened her shoulders as she prepared to give her daughters the rest of the news. "They have taken hostages, and will not release them unless one of us goes to their location."

The revelation hit DG like the proverbial ton of bricks. Flailing blindly, she sat down again, focusing on the scuffed floor around her feet as her head spun in a thousand different directions. "Cain."

"I'm afraid so, my love," her mother replied, moving away from Ahamo and kneeling in front of her youngest daughter. "It appears his visit was part of their plan."

DG looked her mother dead in the eye, devoid of any emotion, except firm and unwavering determination. "I'll go."

"No." Azkadellia's voice was as firm as she'd ever heard it. "You're in no position to negotiate with them."

DG looked painfully, pleadingly, at her sister. "Az, I have to. It's _Cain._"

"I understand that," her sister replied, though her voice was hard enough that it made DG wonder just how much she knew, "but you're not prepared. You don't know diplomacy, or the basic laws of the O.Z. You're the last person who should deal with these…people." The last word was so scornfully hateful that DG had to resist the urge to wince.

"Give me the Cliffs Notes version," DG pleaded, looking between her mother and her sister.

"Your sister's right," her mother finally replied. "You're in no position to go to them."

"So, what? You're just going to leave them out there?" Disbelievingly, she pushed the chair back from her mother and started to pace. "We can't do nothing."

"They expect us to go in with a regiment of men. Taking personnel from our borders will leave us essentially unguarded," the Queen replied. "It would open us up to a direct attack, during which our depleted resources would be quickly overtaken. I cannot, in good conscience, trade the lives of all those men for just two, no matter how important they may be to my family."

DG motioned to the letter her mother held. "Does it say anywhere in there that they plan to attack?"

There was a long, tense pause before the Queen answered. "No."

"They just want to negotiate."

"Yes. But DG—"

"_Please._ Let me go. If they just want to talk, the least we can do is hear them out. They're not going away. People aren't responding the way we hoped they would. We have to adapt." DG crossed her arms, and caught Ahamo's brief, proud smirk out of the corner of her eye. "If these cells have banded together, and I can convince them to back down, that could go a long way in encouraging the other factions to come to our side."

Azkadellia looked torn, as though she could not decide whether her sister was actually a good mediator, or whether she was just plain nuts. The Queen's face was more neutral, but her eyes raked over her youngest daughter as she mulled a plan of action.

Finally, she shook her head, rigidity in her body and her voice. "It's out of the question, DG. You will not go, and that's final."

DG's eyebrows rose. "You'll come to learn that I don't really respond to ultimatums."

"Dorothy Gale—" Ahamo began, and the youngest brunette whirled on him.

"What do you propose we do? Sit on our asses and let them attack us? We wouldn't survive five minutes with those jokers," she waved in the general direction of the window, "and you know it. I _have_ to be the one to go. They'd kill Az five paces outside these walls, and Mother's too weak to go, not to mention the fact they blame her for 'disappearing' and letting the Witch take over." She looked between her parents, both of whom could not meet her staunch gaze. "I won't let you down. I won't mess up again."

"Oh, my angel, I know you won't. That's not the issue. Your sister is right; you don't know how things work here. It's too dangerous. There are too many variables at play."

"I had to talk down two drunk truckers after the Kansas/Kansas State basketball game. Huge fight, right in the middle of the diner, and I handled it. Diplomacy is little more than listening to your opponent, and trying to meet in the middle. I can do this. I _need_ to do this."

The Queen placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Angel, I just got you back. I cannot lose you again."

DG sighed. "I understand that. But if going to them could help broker peace, then I have a duty to help." She held up a hand as her mother started to protest. "This isn't about being a martyr. This is about doing what's right."

Ahamo and the Queen exchanged a long look, the silent conversation eluding both their daughters. Finally, with a small shake of his head, Ahamo relented. His wife followed suit, though she looked painfully troubled at the possibilities.

"We will send a response to the resistance leader," her mother finally said. "We will request his presence for negotiations here. Then, we will proceed."

It was a feeble plan, but neutral enough that both parties could agree on the holding pattern. Azkadellia's soft voice was the next to pose a response.

"We need to tell Ainsley what's happened," she said, looking at the still apparent stalemate between her mother and sister.

"I'll do it," DG offered, but Az shook her head.

"Let me," the eldest princess requested. "She and I…we…I would like to be the one to tell her."

DG didn't question the appeal. "I guess we should go formulate a response," she said to her mother, motioning to the parchment in her hands.

"Yes, we should." The Queen pressed a kiss to her eldest daughter's forehead before stepping crisply to the door. "I shall summon the doctor for you, Azkadellia."

* * *

_Your Highness,_

_Now is not the time for reconciliations or negotiations. You would not listen to words. Now you must listen to action._

_We stand by our demands. If they are not met within three days, one of the hostages will die._

_We are prepared to do whatever is necessary to reclaim the O.Z._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Garrett Griffin_

* * *

The response came in the middle of the night, during dead time, when the air barely moves and sounds must amplify just to be heard above the whispering of the darkness settling over them.

DG was not asleep. She still had not rested, choosing instead to exploit her insomnia and immerse herself in all the information she could find regarding Ozian law. The courier found her in her sister's room, papers spread out on the floor, reaching from baseboard to baseboard. The youngest princess was sitting in her socks, mulling over a particular book when he arrived.

He handed her the reply, and looked between her and the sleeping Azkadellia. DG could see a fiery hatred in his eyes, blatant and unsettling. She rose from her sprawl of papers and ushered him back toward the door. "There are some cots set up down the hall. I will discuss this with my mother, and we will have a reply for you shortly."

The courier simply nodded, and made to leave the room, but not before tossing one last abhorrent look in her sister's direction.

DG tore open the reply, and tears filled her eyes. She felt drained; not from exhaustion, but at the knowledge that someone she cared deeply for was in trouble. Again. And she had seen what they could do—especially to those they felt had defected.

She raced to her parents' room, slipping and nearly falling as she slid across the marble floors. Knocking once, she barged in, surprising Ahamo out of a dead sleep, and causing the man to leap up and fumble for a weapon to defend himself.

He got as far as grabbing his boot when DG held up her hand. "It's just me. The Resistance replied."

Her mother sat up, grey curls spilling far past her shoulders. She slumped as she saw the look on her daughter's face. "They refuse to negotiate."

DG nodded. "We need to go to Plan B."

"I am still wholeheartedly against this," the Queen reminded her. "I know you've done a lot of work the past few days, and I commend you for that. But a crash course in diplomacy does not a diplomat make."

"We don't have a choice. They're going to kill them. I can't…" DG pursed her lips. "I have to help him, Mother. He got me through. He never abandoned me. I have to do the same for him. For both of them."

The Queen and Consort exchanged a long look. "You could very well be walking into a trap, DG, just like the Cains did."

"I know that," the youngest princess replied. When her parents said nothing further, she put her hands on her hips. "Look, I'm going, with or without your blessing. I'm as prepared as I can be. I'm _going_."

The Queen sighed. After another long glance at Ahamo, she slid out of bed. "Let's saddle the horses."

* * *

The first communiqué had indicated the meeting place would be near the old cabin by the white elm, on the border of the crack in the O.Z. Traveling there was quicker the second time around, given she was on horseback, but it was no less painful. DG's heart thudded in time with the horse beats on the ground, and for every landmark they passed, it seemed as though they were falling further and further behind.

Reynolds, one of the newly appointed Captains in the Royal Guard, was directly in front of her, with two soldiers on either side of him. She was flanked by two more on her left and right, and three in back. They sounded like a freight train tearing out of control down a greased track.

Somehow, she heard the waterfall over the din, and it mixed with the rushing blood in her head. They were getting close. _Hold on,_ she pleaded. _Just hold on._

Two men stood in the clearing as they approached, guns aimed. Reynolds pulled them to a full stop, and then looked over his shoulder at the princess. "Highness? What would you like us to do?"

She dismounted and stood in front of the company of men. For all her planning, all her studying, she had neglected to think about how she'd start the negotiation. _I come in peace? Take me to your leader?_ She nearly giggled at the absurd thought, thankful for a break in the grave reality of the past week.

"Jeb and Wyatt Cain," she finally called. "I wish to see they're not harmed."

"They're fine," one of the men said. "We'll trade one for you."

DG shook her head. "No. You want me, you let both of them go."

The rifle cocked and pointed straight at her head. "You're in no position to make demands, Princess."

"I need proof of life." _Stay calm. _She heard Az's voice in her head, and wondered for a minute if their magic allowed for telepathy. _You can do this._

The second man turned and faced behind him. DG could see a row of boulders behind him and immediately started searching for the familiar fedora, or for a flash of blond hair. Her heart sank when she saw neither.

Finally, over the clamor of the whinnying horses and the rushing water, she heard a voice call out.

"Hey there, Princess."

Relief flooded through her so quickly and strongly that she nearly had to lean on Reynolds for support. But she would not let them know she was shaken; she would not bend or break. Defiantly, she raised her chin and called back. "You okay?"

"Been better," came the reply, and she had to bite back a smile.

"Jeb?"

"Here." He sounded worse than his father, but still mercifully alive.

The resistance leader turned back to her. "Proof enough, _Princess_?"

There were guffaws of laughter at his comment, and the sound quickly encircled her. She realized they were surrounded, and looked to Reynolds anxiously.

"We need to pull back and set up our own blockage," he said quietly, his hand on his sidearm.

She nodded slightly, and then looked at the leader across the clearing. "Pull your men back, and then we'll talk. I will not be painted into a corner."

There was more laughter, and the leader again looked over his shoulder at his company, this time in amusement. "I'd say you already are."

"You want me to give you something, you gotta offer something first," DG said. "Good faith goes a long way in this."

The two men in the clearing turned toward each other, bowing their heads and discussing it briefly. Finally, the second man's voice shouted to his comrades. "All companies pull back! Back behind the front lines!"

There was a thunderous shifting around them, but DG never saw any of the men that had surrounded her. They were skilled, and slightly desperate. It was a deadly combination.

She turned to Reynolds, and made to speak, but he beat her to the punch.

"Princess, I highly advise against this."

"Have your men pull back," she ordered, her tone clipped and efficient. "I'll make the trade."

"Princess…"

"Do it." She'd never sounded more coldly commanding in her life.

The commander sighed. "Pull back!" He yelled, his voice carrying beyond the cheering of the opposition as he did so.

DG stood in front of her horse, arms raised in surrender. "I'm coming out!" She called, and the victorious cheering diminished into anticipating whispers. "I'm unarmed!"

She stepped into the clearing, the wind rustling her hair in goodbye as she took her first tentative steps toward the front lines. She stopped parallel to the crack of the O.Z., and held her breath as she waited for the familiar frame to occupy the space in front of her, and she thought she might pass out from oxygen deprivation as the seconds lingered into infinite pause.

When she saw Cain emerge from behind a great elm, a sense of relief washed over her, and she expelled a heavy breath, the tightness in her chest lifting like a weight. Her eyes inspected him closely, looking for any signs he'd been injured.

Except for the gun pressed firmly into his side, he looked exactly as he had the last time she'd seen him. She dropped her head in relief, and clenched her fists to fight falling to the ground. Her eyes raked over him, her mind replaying the mantra of his good condition in an unending cycle.

She took a step toward him, her arms still raised above her head.

"Come closer!" A hidden form yelled, and she took another step, the muscles in her arms starting to ache from how rigidly she held them. They were the only outward signs of her nervousness, and she willed herself not to shake as she crossed the path to where her eventual captors lay in wait.

There was the all-too real possibility that they would kill her. They wanted to send a message; what more obvious sign of discord could they send than the dead body of the successor to the throne could there be?

She knew that, if she survived, Cain would have her ass for trading herself for him. But there was really no question in her mind—he'd already sacrificed so much for this cause, while she'd been spirited and hidden away, shielded from the actualities of war and loss. Now it was her turn to step up. Now it was her turn to save him, when he'd already done it for her, countless times.

She approached the other side carefully, and watched with unblinking eyes as Cain was pushed forward. His captor let him get ten paces in front of him before training the gun on DG. Cain continued walking, his cool eyes watching her every step.

His scent—musky, heady, tarnished and forgiving—assailed her as they closed the distance between them. They remained parallel to each other, their steps deliberate, both knowing that one misstep, one false move, could result in both of their deaths. DG focused on her breathing, but her chest hitched as he came ever closer, relief mixing with fear in overwhelming amounts.

They both slowed their pace as they rested side-by-side, and their hands dropped and caught between them, holding on as tightly as they dared in between steps. Their gazes met and caught, unwavering in the split second they had to converse.

Her eyes told him what she did not dare speak. _This is the right thing to do. Trust me._

He replied as openly. _With my life._

The unexpected, hesitant _I love you_ was exchanged in the same breath, before the autonomic blinking severed the connection.

Their laced hands broke apart as she passed, but her arm remained reaching behind her, as though her body instinctively knew he should be back by her side, physically connected to her as strongly as he was emotionally.

The rest of the walk to the resistance was blurry, and she blinked harshly to rid herself of outward emotion. She'd have to be as strong and stoic as Cain to survive this. _Don't show your weakness,_ she chastised herself. These people were out for blood; who it belonged to was of little importance, as long as they got it. They seemed unhinged but expertly planning and cunning. She was walking into the lion's den blind.

They took Princess Dorothy Gale, heir to the throne of the O.Z., threw her to her knees and pressed a gun to her head.

End Chapter Seven


	8. Come Undone

_Author's Notes/Warnings:_ _Okay, you're all going to hate me, but I need to warn you: I put a Red Sox shoutout in here._

_Okay, seriously, though there __is__ a mention of the best baseball team ever, the more pressing warning is that there is a character death in this chapter. I hope that won't deter anyone from reading._

_Thanks to The Unusual Suspects of Alamo Girl and Padme Kenobi for your unwavering squeeing and support. And a big old thank you to Meredith Paris, who when told about the evilness I planned for this chapter, said, "Yes! Do it!" so quickly it made my head spin. Thank you for believing I could do this, honey, and encouraging/brainstorming much of the content for this chapter with me. I don't think I would have had the guts to do it without you._

_Also, huge, huge, HUGE thanks to all of you who have taken the time to read and review: horsewomann, FaithfulElf, Bee, Onora, Em, Stellasiren, KateCayce, Alexandra3, Lattelady, PhoenixFyre, V, SSGryffindorgirl7 and my two anonymous reviewers. You should see the happy dance I do when your comments come through. It's embarrassing (I seriously need some of Glitch's rhythm), but it is appreciative and heartfelt. And to you lurkers out there—thank you for reading as well._

_Disclaimer in Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Come Undone**

The ground was harder than she'd anticipated, and pain shot up and through her spine as her knees impacted the dirt. A pair of hands wrenched her into a standing position by the collar on her shirt, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might pick her up completely and throw her into the water below. Instead, she was shoved forward and immediately surrounded on all sides.

They marched in effortless formation away from the Royal Guard. They delved deeper into the woods, and the foliage became so dense that the afternoon sunlight darkened from brilliant yellow to almost completely pale white. She did not see Jeb, and dared not make a sound by calling out to him.

A few tents were set up in a hastily cleared area, and DG was pushed roughly inside the one closest to their path. It looked like the resistance tents she'd rested in the night after the Eclipse—army green and thick enough for privacy, but thin enough to be heard through and controlled clearly.

A female opposition fighter accompanied her into the tent, and motioned to a cot set in the corner. "Have a seat," she ordered, but her voice was not as hardened as her male counterparts.

DG sat, her sore body thankful for the relief. "Thank you."

The woman seemed briefly surprised at the comment, but said nothing as the two men from the clearing entered the tent.

"You can go now, Meg," Garrett said, and the woman nodded, sparing one last glance at the princess.

The second man dragged two chairs behind him, and set them up in front of the cot. Garrett sat, openly appraising DG. His scrutiny was not uncomfortable, however; he seemed genuinely curious, like a child examining a new toy for the first time. He turned to his counterpart for a moment and whispered something behind his hand. Then he turned back to DG and said mockingly, "So you're the princess of light."

DG straightened as best she could on the rickety cot, feeling the steel bars pressing into the backs of her thighs. "I'm DG. What other people call me isn't my concern."

Garrett leaned closer, and she could feel his breath on her chin. She refused to flinch, fisting her hands around the canvas of her seat. "What _is_ your concern, _Princess_?"

DG had to suppress a shiver as she searched his dead eyes. "I want to rebuild the O.Z. Just like you."

His lips barely moved from a snarl. "I don't believe you."

"Why not? I'm here, aren't I?"

"Because we took something most valuable to you," Garrett replied, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, as though they were casually discussing the strength of the Red Sox bullpen. "You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"That's not true," DG protested, but Garrett cut her off.

"Don't waste your time lying, Princess," the resistance leader said coldly. "I don't appreciate playing games."

Taking a deep breath, DG squared her shoulders. "I'm not playing games with you, sir. This land is as much your home as it is mine. I want to help in any way I can."

"Tell me one thing."

"I'll try."

"Why did your mother ignore our request for a meeting? All of this could have been avoided."

_Somehow I doubt that,_ the princess thought to herself before replying. "She's trying to adjust back to her life along with the rest of us. Her family took precedence for a little while. I'd think you could understand that."

"You mean the needs of a few outweighed the needs of many."

DG clenched her fists. "There are many problems that need fixing. My mother had to prioritize."

"And she chose the Sorceress over her kingdom."

"Azkadellia is not the Sorceress." Her tone was gritty.

"My spies would contradict that assessment, young lady."

"Are you interested in hearing the full story, or just believing what you think to be true, so it's easier to justify the things you've done?"

Garrett's eyes flashed in warning. "We've done the things necessary to survive. You couldn't begin to understand that."

"I'd understand that more than you could ever fathom," DG replied, crossing her arms. "I trekked through this godforsaken land not remembering a damn thing, just _trying_ to survive. I know what you have had to sacrifice."

"I highly doubt that."

"Look," DG sighed, watching a small beam of fading sunlight as it cut through the faded canvas, "we're just going in circles here. Let's move on and figure out where to go from here."

Garrett scoffed. "Not interested in hearing our tales of woe, Princess?"

"There's no use dwelling in the past. The only thing we have in common is our desire to make the future better."

"We want your mother off the throne."

DG's blood ran cold. "Excuse me?"

"She stood by and let your sister lead a violent coup that destroyed our homes. She's useless."

"She didn't have a choice!" DG protested.

"There's always a choice, young lady. It may not be a decision we wish to make, but there are always options."

DG swallowed her angry fear. "I can't make that kind of promise, sir."

"You _won't_," Garrett corrected.

DG shook her head. "I came here to hear your demands, and let you know that our goals are the same. I didn't come here to negotiate things I have no business handling."

"Then your trip was wasted," the leader said, rising from his chair. "Meg?"

The woman entered the tent again and looked at Garrett. When he had the woman's attention, he spoke again. "Shackle her, please."

"That's not necessary—" DG protested, and writhed beneath the frosty metal cuff. The chain clicked around a stake in the ground, and she automatically pulled against it, tugging as hard as she could. The metal merely clanged a sad apology, and she sat back on the cot, rubbing her forehead with her free hand.

Garrett and Meg left, and after a moment, the tent opening rustled again. Jeb Cain was thrust inside and shackled within the blink of an eye. DG could tell he'd been there before from the raw, red broken skin encircling his wrists. They sat in silence until Garrett left, and Jeb leaned forward. "Are you all right, Princess?"

DG nodded. "So far. You?"

"I could use a hot meal and a bath," he replied, trying to be nonchalant, and she could see his father in his effort to calm her nerves. He had a few new lacerations marring his forehead, and the red cuts stood out against his pale skin and fading bruises, but as he spoke again, she could see by the way he held himself that he'd been through worse and was trying to reassure her. "Is Doc okay?"

DG nodded again. "She was when I left. She's keeping an eye on Az."

Jeb breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods."

DG leaned toward him. "What have you noticed about these people?"

Jeb lowered his voice. "Everything's well planned; very little room for error or maneuvering. They also want your sister's head on a platter. I think they believe you'll trade me for her."

DG's stomach sank. "I can't…I can't make that kind of choice."

Jeb shook his head. "We won't let it come to that," he promised. "If you can keep them talking, give in to some of their demands, I think they'll let us go. At the very least, Father knows where we are. I'd bet anything he's mounting a counterattack as we speak."

"We don't have much manpower," DG said quietly, looking down at her hands. "These idiots outnumber us at least four-to-one."

"Then I hope you're a better diplomat than you are an optimist."

The tent flap was thrown open again, and Jeb and DG sat back, both steeling themselves for Garrett's wrath and return. His second-in-command stood behind him, and both men looked as though they were made of steel as they entered the tiny space.

Garrett pulled his chair close to DG, enough that their legs touched. It took much of her willpower not to shudder at the contact. "Now, then, Princess," he began, "we have a few things to discuss."

"I talk better when I'm not tied up like some cow."

"We'll see about that," the leader replied, leaning ever closer, and DG's eyes flickered to his hands as they clenched in and out of fists. He was fighting to keep his tone even and under control. "You said you could explain why the Sorceress is still alive, and why your family continues to live in her Black Tower."

DG cleared her throat. "When we were young, Azkadellia and I were exploring the woods. The Old Witch of the Dark lived in those woods, and possessed Azkadellia. The Witch used my sister's strength and magic to destroy the O.Z. Once she was defeated, it took a toll on my sister's health. We cannot move her, no matter how much we want to leave that awful place."

Garrett studied her for a long moment. "The Witch of the Dark is legend, child."

DG shook her head. "No. I saw her. When I was a child, and when I killed her on the night of the Eclipse."

The leader tapped his index finger against his chin thoughtfully. "Say I believe you. Why did your mother not banish your sister, or exorcise the Witch from her?"

"She couldn't." DG looked at her hands.

"How is that?"

"She wasn't strong enough." The brunette swallowed around the guilt in her throat.

At this, Garrett tugged angrily on her chains, curling them around calloused, broken knuckles, and causing her to bend roughly at the waist, her head hitting his knees. "I warned you about lying."

"I'm not!" DG protested, raising her head, blinking away the stars that clouded her vision. "She didn't have enough magic to banish the Witch from my sister."

The second-in-command leaned in. "She was the most powerful being in the O.Z.! Of course she could have exorcised her."

"You don't know what she could or could not have done." DG was quickly losing her patience. "But it doesn't matter now."

"Our history matters greatly, young lady," Garrett replied, releasing her shackles. "You'd do well to remember that."

The princess sighed. "I'm not here to argue semantics with you. We just need to move forward, and to do that, we need to work together. Tell me what you want."

"You need to understand the hell your family put this kingdom through," the second-in-command told her.

"We've been through the exact same hell," DG told them tiredly. "I know how it feels to have your world turned upside down."

"I highly doubt that, Princess," Garrett replied.

With her free hand, DG pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, you asked me to come out here and hear you out. Now that I'm here, you're doing nothing but poking at me like a piñata. What's the point of that?"

"Princess," Jeb warned lowly, watching as Garrett's eyes narrowed.

"Why didn't your mother come?" Garrett queried darkly.

"She's looking after my sister," the brunette repeated.

"So she has enough magic to help save your sister and not her homeland?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"It always is with you people." Garrett reached into his back pocket and pulled out a dirty rag that sent DG's chest pounding. A black knife handle protruded from the end, and she glanced anxiously at Jeb before Garrett moved again. The leader pulled the sheathed knife from the rag and used the bandana's fabric to wipe at his brow. The princess couldn't hold in her relieved exhale.

The resistance leader looked down interestedly at her. "Don't worry, Princess," he said with a hellish half-smirk, "I'm not going to hurt you. Yet."

"Look," DG began, her mind quickly going blank at the threat, the research she'd done over the previous days seeping into the night sky and becoming useless, "send me back with a list of your requests. I'll talk them over with my mother, and then we can come to some sort of compromise."

"You're not going anywhere any time soon." Garrett rose to leave and the second-in-command followed him. She looked at Jeb worriedly, the sinking feeling that she was in way over her head chilling her as the night wind did not. "They're not going to let us go, are they?"

Jeb shook his head slowly. "We just have to hang on until Father gets here. Just keep 'em talking."

The tent opened again, and a young woman walked in, Garrett right behind her. He ushered her gently to the seat he had been occupying just moments before, and patted her on the shoulder. "Go ahead, Rowena."

The woman, only a few years older than DG, cleared her throat and began to speak. "The Witch executed my parents," she said, no affect in her voice. "I was ten annuals old. My mother was pregnant when they shot her in the head."

DG sucked in a breath. "I'm…I'm so—"

Rowena held up a hand. "I don't want you to say you're sorry. But you need to know who you're defending, who you're making excuses for." Saying nothing further, she rose from the chair and left the tent.

An older, grey-haired man replaced her, telling them how his farm was burned because he refused to house Longcoats for the night. He was followed by two orphaned children, a boy and a girl, who had hidden beneath the floorboards when their parents were taken from their home and eventually hanged in Central City.

The line of victims continued for close to three hours. At its merciful end, DG could no longer breathe. She had doubled over at the waist halfway through the litany of horror stories, and was trying in vain to stop her desperate, wracking sobs. Jeb used his free hand to rub her back awkwardly.

Garrett reentered the tent and looked at her interestingly. "Do you understand now, Princess?"

DG could not find the words, so she merely nodded.

Garrett nodded. "All these things happened because of your family." He leaned over and began to unshackle her. "You will go back to the tower and tell your mother to abdicate the throne."

Her response was stuttered. "I…I can't do that."

"Your family is the cause of all this destruction." He tilted his head and watched her curiously, stopping his key in the lock. "You didn't really think we'd allow the people that ruined our lives to remain in power, did you?"

DG swallowed guiltily. In truth, she hadn't considered it. "Who would you propose rule if not my family?"

"That's none of your concern," Garrett said softly. "You won't be around to see it."

Cold panic ran swiftly through the brunette. "What?" she repeated dumbly.

"You admitted it earlier; you were there when the Witch of the Dark possessed your sister. You didn't stop this so-called possession. You're just as guilty as the rest of your family. You'll be punished accordingly."

"That's not going to solve anything," Jeb interjected, fighting his shackles. "Send her back with a list of demands. The palace will listen to you. They already have, just by sending her here."

Garrett turned to him. "Don't fool yourself into thinking she gives a damn about anybody other than herself, especially not us commoners."

DG shook her head. "I want to fix this. Tell me how I can fix this. Please." She put a hand on the older man's arm, which he shrugged off immediately.

"Don't pretend to be so familiar with your subjects, Princess," he warned. "You still have a lot to learn."

"I know that," she agreed, watching him as he returned to fiddling with her chains. "I'm doing the best I can. We all are. We want the same things; to help the O.Z."

Garrett scoffed. "I'll believe that when I see it."

_Think, think_, she ordered herself. "I _have _helped the O.Z.," she finally said. "I replenished the Fields of the Papay. I helped defeat the Witch. Jeb was there; he saw it."

"I did," the younger Cain confirmed quickly.

Garrett and his second exchanged a look. Latching on hopefully, the brunette continued, "Have there been any attacks on anyone since the Eclipse, by the Papay or Longcoats?"

At their silence, DG braved a smile. "My magic—my family's magic—that's what did it. We've saved lives."

"By feeding brutal animals? By allegedly banishing a legend? That hardly counts, Princess." Garrett shook his head. "It's minimal in the face of all you've done to _ruin_ the O.Z."

_Keep them talking_, she reminded herself. _Every second counts._ "Look, I will be more than happy to take your demands to my mother. Just let Jeb and me go."

"He's not going anywhere," the second-in-command said. "We need you to come back."

"I'll come back," the princess promised immediately. "You have my word."

"Like we had your mother's promises? A lot of good they did us." Garrett shook his head. "We need an insurance policy. He stays here."

DG shook her head. "You say you want to compromise, and yet you refuse to meet me halfway."

"You need to learn how to listen, Princess." Garrett leaned down again, and this time, she did flinch and sit backwards as he invaded her personal space. "You're not in charge here."

"I'm not leaving without him." Her voice was staunch in its stubbornness.

"You're leaving when I say you leave." Garrett's voice was equally commanding.

"No."

The older man pulled his gun from its holster within half the blink of an eye and pressed it back against her head. "Go back to the palace, and deliver your family to us."

She refused to let her tears out. "Go to hell."

"DG." Jeb's voice was lower as he warned her again.

She ignored him. Looking up at Garrett, she said, "You're just going to kill me anyway. Might as well get it over with."

He turned off the safety and cocked the hammer. His second leapt to his feet. "Garrett, this isn't the plan. She has to go back!"

"My men will come for you anyway," DG said, staring up at the older man and setting her jaw. "I'll bet you anything they're just waiting to attack. You're finished." Looking back up at the resistance leader, she saw his hand begin to waver. _Yeah, that's it. Come on, drop it,_ she begged silently.

Her stomach dropped when his hand stopped shaking. "You're in no position to make demands _or_ compromises."

She pulled against the chains. "God damn it!" she yelled, frustration seeping from every pore. "What do you _want_ from me?"

Garrett's eyes turned to something she'd never seen before, and wished never to see again. He turned the gun away from her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Her relief was short-lived.

Before she could form tears or even a shout of protest, Garrett fired a large caliber round into Jeb's chest.

The young blond man looked stunned for a moment before he pitched forward onto the ground, his shackles pulling the cot halfway on top of him. DG could not see his face, as she was focused on the profuse amount of blood seeping among the dirt and the grass.

Garrett looked at her coolly. "I want you to understand how much it hurts when someone betrays your trust, just like your family betrayed ours." He looked over briefly at the toppled cot covering Jeb, then looked quickly back at her. "You didn't have any intention of coming here to listen. You just wanted what _you_ wanted; to rescue your friends." Leaning down, his hot breath ruffled her bangs. "No one was there to rescue us from _you_. Maybe now you can see it from our side."

The second man disarmed him and pulled his comrade roughly from the tent. DG threw herself on the ground, still attached to her own cot. She tried desperately to maneuver Jeb's cot off him, and was eventually able to turn him, and the bed, on their sides.

She turned him to rest on his back in the dirt, and DG could hear the bubbling of the blood in his chest wound. Hot, terrified, angry tears splashed from her eyes onto his face, which became more and more pale with each labored breath. She half-dragged him onto her lap and rocked him as her mother had rocked her when she'd come home with one sports-related injury or another. "No, no, no," she pleaded in a strangled cry, pressing her hands to try and stop the blood flow. "Jeb, don't do this to me. Please, Jeb!"

He blinked unseeingly at her, and she felt him start to go slack in her arms. She moved her top hand and tapped at his face, trying in vain to keep him conscious. "Hang on, Jeb. Dear God, _please_ hang on. Your dad'll be here soon. I know he will. Please, Jeb, hang on."

He whispered something, rustling her bangs, and she leaned down to better hear him. At first, she shook her head at his request. "Don't _say_ that," she pleaded. "You're going to be fine."

"Liar," he mouthed, eyes slipping shut. "Just tell Doc."

"I promise," she finally said, breaking into uncontrollable, wracking sobs as the blood flow and his breathing stopped.

A shadow crossed into their tent, but she did not look up. "Murderer!" she screeched, an unearthly sound. "How could you?! You bastards!"

A soft hand landed on her shoulder, and she shrugged it away. It was insistent, however, and DG looked up, wishing she had better control of her magic so as to retaliate.

She saw Meg, the woman who had first brought her to the makeshift brig, kneeling next to her. Silently, the other woman inserted a key into the shackles binding both the princess and the former resistance leader's body. "There is a horse at the edge of the clearing," she said softly, checking over her shoulder. "I will stay with him until you come back with reinforcements."

"I don't trust you," DG spat venomously. "You killed an innocent man."

"So did you," Meg replied, "in my husband, and in the hundreds of husbands, fathers and sons of the past annuals. But that's done now. You need to go, Princess. Stay parallel to the crack in the O.Z. and you should come across your guardsmen soon. Our spies indicated they were close."

DG searched the woman's face for any sign of deception. "Why are you helping me?"

Meg sighed. "Because this has to end, and not in the way Garrett is planning." She pulled DG up by her elbow. "_Go,_" she urged. "I'll stay with him." She pulled Jeb's body off DG and righted the cot. The two women lifted him onto the canvas, and Meg unfolded a blanket, covering him gently with it. She pulled Garrett's chair from its spot and, once DG passed, sat guarding the tent.

The princess ran at twice her normal speed until she found the horse Meg had promised her would be there, munching on some grass. She mounted the steed quickly and raced out of the camp, praying the thundering hooves wouldn't give her away.

She was halfway back to Central City when she heard someone call out. "Stop in the name of the Queen!"

She pulled the horse up short and saw the colors of the Royal Guard flanked in front of her. "It's me!" she cried out.

The company front parted, and she saw Cain on horseback, trotting toward her. He stopped with wide eyes, scanning down her front. She looked down, horror stricken.

She was covered in Jeb's blood.

Cain dismounted and ran to her, pulling her from the horse. "Are you all right?" he demanded, looking her over quickly.

She could not reply, for there were no words or thoughts to be formed. Cain gripped her tightly by the upper arms and bent his knees, trying to catch her gaze. She was steadfast in avoiding him, however, and wrenched her eyes shut, though some tears slipped through and mixed with the blood on her shirt.

"DG?" Cain shook her. "DG, talk to me."

The princess heard another set of footsteps approach them quickly, and she turned her head, catching sight of the medic striding toward her, bag in hand.

"Where are you hurt?" the blonde demanded, removing one of Cain's hands to take the princess's pulse.

"I'm...not," DG replied weakly.

The world seemed to stop in that moment. All sound ceased, and for once, the brunette knew the meaning of deathly silence. Ainsley dropped her hand, her alto voice tentatively wary and disbelieving. "DG, where's Jeb?"

An anguished cry escaped the youngest princess, and she would have fallen to the ground completely had Cain not been there to catch her. She saw the medic begin to shake so badly that she dropped her supply bag. DG finally looked between Cain and the doctor. "I'm…I'm so sorry," she sobbed, wrapping her blood soaked arms around her middle and rocking back and forth, just as she had in the tent. "They…they just…"

"No." Cain pushed himself away from her, standing on unsteady feet, and she was forced to look up at him, begging forgiveness. "They wouldn't."

"They did." DG's reply was little more than a whisper, and her face crumbled as Cain walked away from her. "They just…"

"Don't say it." Ainsley's tone was deadly. "Don't you dare say it."

"He said to tell you he loved you. Both of you."

In a flash, DG was on her feet again, with Ainsley's fist bunching the collar of her shirt and nearly lifting the brunette off the ground. "Don't. Say. It."

One of the Royal Guards came up swiftly behind the medic and wrapped two strong arms around her waist, wrenching the blonde away from the princess. The medic flailed and bucked against him, kicking him roughly in the shins. To DG, she cried, "Why didn't you save him? You could have saved him!"

DG shook her head, beginning to feel drained from the amount of tears she'd cried over the past half day. "I tried to stop them. But there was nothing I could do. I'm so sorry."

Cain refused to look at her. Ainsley finally wrestled herself away from her captors and charged the princess, red-faced. "You selfish little…" DG saw her fist clench and braced herself for the stinging impact. When it did not come, the princess opened her eyes and saw the medic's shaking hand hovering near her cheek. "You used your magic to make your sister stronger! Your mother used her magic to save _you_! You could have _done_ something!"

DG could only make out the woman's blurry form through her tears.

"I guess we don't merit that much consideration, do we? I guess you couldn't be _bothered_." The blonde turned to the convened guard, wild in her anguish. "All hail Princess Dorothy Gale, no better than her witch of a sister."

DG's voice was weak. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, you're _sorry._ Well, that makes it all better now, doesn't it?" The medic was shaking so badly that DG thought the ground must be moving beneath her.

Cain walked up behind the blonde and put a hand on her shoulder. When he did, the anger leapt from the blonde into the midnight sky, and she broke into silent sobs, turning and shielding herself against the Tin Man's chest. His strong arms enveloped her, and he murmured useless placations against the crown of her head. They fell to the ground together, anguished tears drowning out the rush of the waterfalls nearby.

The Royal Guardsman who had pulled Ainsley away walked silently around the grieving parties and addressed the princess. "We're waiting on your orders, Your Highness. What should we do?"

DG could only think of one thing as she looked down at Cain, who glanced at, and then quickly away, from her. _Fix this._ "We head back to the tower. I will issue a proclamation of war upon our return. Then they'll come to us. And we'll be ready."

End Chapter Eight


	9. Fallout

_Author's Notes: All I can say in response to your reaction to the last chapter is: GROUP HUG! I know Jeb's death (and yes, he's currently Jacob Marley, deader than dead) was hard to read (it was even worse to write, believe me), and your support really does mean the world to me. Like, we're talking a jig of Papelbon-esque proportions happened in my living room yesterday. (I'm shipping up to Boston, whoa…) Anyway, thank you to all of you lovely people who have reviewed, favorited, and/or alerted this story. And if you're lurking, thanks for that, too. I really do appreciate it._

_My sincerest apologies for not getting this up during the day Tuesday. My Internet picked a really bad time to go out. _

_Here comes the aftermath. I think it's rather safe to say there's some angst in here. Just a little, teeny, tiny bit. (And the Understatement of the Century Award goes to…)_

_M, B and E: I'm running out of ways to say thank you, so we're switching to foreign languages now. Merci beaucoup!_

_Disclaimer in Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Fallout**

DG didn't remember riding back to the Black Tower, nor did she recall dismounting her horse and watching as Cain protectively ushered Ainsley into the structure. She didn't register anything until she felt a gentle hand on her elbow. She didn't move until her sister's strong, unwavering grip turned her from the East and led her toward the castle.

She was numb as Azkadellia drew her a bath and slowly removed the blood stained clothing. Their mother joined them in the bathroom and helped her eldest daughter wash the youngest princess, as though the drain could discard all the torment and guilt rolling through DG like waves on a shore. The two older women redressed the brunette and ushered her to one of the waiting bedrooms.

DG sat dutifully on the bed and let her mother examine her, ensuring the younger woman wasn't physically injured. When Azkadellia took her sister's hand, the youngest princess was coherent enough to note the pained, panicked look that crossed between mother and daughter.

The Queen knelt in front of DG, taking the girl's cheeks between her hands. "My sweet angel," she murmured, and then stopped, for there was nothing more to say.

Az wrapped an arm around her sister, cradling DG's cheek to her collarbone, and Ahamo stood next to his wife. A family unit, not torn apart by time, evil or distance.

Few had been so lucky.

Cain hadn't been. Neither had the medic.

It was because of her that the person they both loved most was gone.

Once the tears started again, they were little more than inhuman wails, sobs that could not be bound by the comforting ministrations of her sister or mother, or by sheer will. Once she could cry no more, her breath hitched in her chest, hiccups breaking the stale palace air.

Her father returned with a glass of water and some bread, which she took. They immediately caught in her throat, and she pushed away from her family as she rushed to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. Az was right behind her, holding her hair back, rubbing soft circles around her shoulder blades. Once she stopped heaving, DG sat heavily on the ground, leaning against the bathroom wall. Her mother handed her a damp cloth, and the youngest princess dabbed at her mouth before wrapping the facecloth around her index finger. "Mother," she began, but the Queen knelt before her and shook her head.

"Hush, my child," she said, caressing DG's cheek. "What's done is done. Now we move forward."

"It's all my fault." She felt the tears threaten again, and she tightened the washcloth around her finger so tightly that the tip turned white. "I killed him."

"DG…" Az began, but her sister shook her head vehemently.

"If I had just listened to you, he'd be okay. He'd be talking with his father right now, or doing God only knows what with Ainsley." She sniffled and wiped angrily at her eyes. "I've taken so much from them already, and now I did this."

Az sighed and spared a glance at her parents, waiting a moment before she replied. "Deege," she started, taking her sister's hands between her own, "we don't know what plans the gods have for us. We may never understand why things happen the way they do. "

"No." DG shook her head again. "This has nothing to do with destiny, or prophecy, or any of that fate bullshit. This has to do with a young man dying because of _me_. You can't tell me that my actions didn't lead to this."

There was silence in the cavernous bathroom, until the princess spoke again. "I thought so." She pushed herself up and away from her family. "I need to be alone for a little bit." When her mother began to protest, DG held up a hand. "I'll be back with you to issue the proclamation and begin figuring out where to move our troops. But now…I just need a minute."

"All right, Deege," Az answered, stopping her mother with a knowing look.

DG ran from the room and took the steps to the top of the tower two at a time. She rounded the corner onto the balcony, the night wind whipping her hair into knots.

She stopped short when she saw a familiar figure hunched over the railing, head in his hands.

She made to leave him be, but her bare feet slipped on the dewy marble, and she sprawled unceremoniously to the ground. Cain turned at the thud and her muttered curse, but turned back to looking out over the landscape as DG righted herself.

"I was just leaving," he said, not looking at her.

"No, it's all right. You stay."

Neither of them moved until he looked over his shoulder tiredly. "Did you need something, Princess?"

She balked at the lack of affect in his tone. "No," she finally said. "I'm sorry if I bothered you." She turned and began walking back into the tower when she heard him call her name softly.

She turned quickly, but carefully, and stepped back onto the balcony. He had turned to rest his back against the railing and was staring through her. "Tell me what happened."

She shook her head. "I can't, Cain."

"You owe me that much."

_I owe you so much more,_ she thought, blue eyes regarding him steadfastly. She crossed her arms, rubbing at her biceps, trying to ward off the chill. "Are you sure?"

His gaze never wavered from hers, and she sighed in resignation. "They shot him. It was quick." She rubbed at her stuffed nose. "I held on to him."

Cain nodded absently, and then turned his back on her again. "You never should have traded yourself for me."

"Don't say that," she pleaded.

"He'd still be alive if you'd just stayed put."

The knife that had been protruding from her gut since Jeb's last breath spilled from his lips twisted at his father's words. "I had to do it."

"Why?" When the Tin Man finally turned to face her, anguish and anger mixed in blinding color there. "You could have sent scouts. You could have done a million other things, DG, but you chose not to. You chose to focus on the small picture."

"We don't have the manpower to attack their camp. Not even close. They'd have killed _both_ of you. I thought I could get you both out."

"Well, apparently you thought wrong." It had been a long time since she'd heard his voice so cold; it felt like a lifetime since he'd regarded her so emotionlessly. She thought so much had changed between them; the little touches, the unspoken understandings. And now here they were, back at square one, strangers with only an unspeakable, unfathomable tragedy tethering them together.

"Cain…Wyatt." His given name felt foreign on her tongue. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. I don't want to hear it."

She thought back to their conversation the previous day, when he had sworn he forgave her and didn't blame her for the shambles of his life. Now, as she watched his shoulders slump, she knew without a doubt that his feelings had most definitely changed.

She couldn't blame him.

She nodded in acquiescence, feeling the tears begin to threaten again. "I'm sorry I let you down."

"Sorry's just your favorite word, isn't it, Princess?" He turned to face her, eyes full of fury. "It doesn't do a damn thing. Not a _damn_ thing."

She fought not to buckle under the weight of his despair. "I know that," she replied quietly. "I've taken so much from you. I took eight years of your life because I let go of Az. I took your wife from you. And now…" her breath hitched and her face crumbled, "and now I've taken your son." She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'm just so sorry."

She could not see him through her tears, but heard the clank of his boots as he walked past her and back into the tower. This time, when she fell to her knees, she welcomed the pain. It was the least she could feel for all the agony she'd caused those she loved.

* * *

The doctor barely heard the halfhearted knock at the door, and did not turn to address her visitor when she heard the heavy metal scrape along the marble floor when it opened. She simply stood, arms crossed, looking out over the darkness as it took hold of the O.Z., just as it had taken hold of her.

She heard heavy footfalls—ones she'd long ago pegged as only being made by boots—and turned, irrationally hoping she'd turn around and somehow, the past day would be taken back, as though the gods had played some horrific cosmic joke on them.

Instead of Jeb Cain looking back at her, it was his weary father.

Medic and Tin Man stared at each other for a moment before she turned back to the window. She heard Cain move next to her, and saw him take note of her packed bag as it stood against the bed.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question.

"I can't stay here." Her voice was its normal alto, for she'd cried all the tears her body could produce.

"You're the only medic we've got."

The doctor turned to face him. "I can't heal anyone right now. I can barely hold _myself _together; how am I going to fix anyone else when all I see is…him?"

Cain did not reply, and at his silence, she found herself inexplicably spurred on. "I keep thinking this all a nightmare, and I'm going wake up, and he's going to be right next to me."

His hand found her shoulder. "I don't want him to be gone, either, Ainsley."

"He _can't_ be gone," she retorted. "I would have felt it. I would have known the minute he…" She forced her eyes shut. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to build me another chair. We were supposed to have a house, and children, and…"

Cain enveloped her in a tight embrace. "I know," he said, cradling her head against his shoulder as she wept.

"He was all I had," she whispered, moving away from him and sitting on the bed. "I don't think he ever really knew that."

"I think he did," Cain replied, kneeling in front of her and rubbing her knees.

"How do you know?" She sounded so like a little girl, lost and broken.

"The way he looked at you. I may not be an expert, but I can tell when a boy's in love."

"He could never say it." She sniffled, looking down at her hands. "He could never say it to me."

"That's my fault," Cain said sadly. "I'm sorry he couldn't give that to you."

"He did in other ways," the medic said after a moment. She sighed, exhaling a deep, shuddering breath. "I feel like nothing's ever going to make sense again."

"It won't. Not for a long while."

Her heart broke further as she consciously realized that he'd done this before, and that his grief must have been infinitely greater than her own. She'd had four full annuals of knowing Jeb, and an annual and a half of being intimate with him. Cain had just gotten him back. She knew things his father would never know; had experiences the elder Cain had missed out on. "What do we do now?"

Cain sighed. "We have another battle to fight. After that, I don't know."

She couldn't stop her eyebrows from reaching for her hairline. "You want to fight for the people who killed your son?"

The Tin Man looked at her confusedly. "What are you talking about?"

"You're actually going to saddle up and defend the House of Gale? If it wasn't for them—if it wasn't for _DG_—he'd still be alive!"

He looked away from her, tightening his jaw. "If it wasn't for DG, I'd still be a prisoner in that camp. Not to mention a prisoner of the iron suit." He looked down sadly, knowingly at her. "There's nothing else we _can_ do, Ainsley. But this has to stop. No father, no wife should have to bury their loved ones. If we can stop it, we have a duty to try."

"You're going to forgive her." She hated how disgusted her tone sounded.

"I don't know," Cain replied honestly. When he continued, his tone and face were painfully strained. "But I can't just ignore the good she's done. Neither should you."

"She killed your _son_."

He sighed, dropping his head in semi-resignation. "If you want to blame anybody, Ainsley, you should blame me. I'm the one who let him walk straight into a trap. I'm the one who let DG make the trade."

The medic looked at him steadfastly, heart pounding loudly in her chest when she finally spoke her painfully truthful reply. "You didn't have much of a choice."

"I could have made them give him up instead of me. I could have refused to go."

"They still would have killed him. And you."

Cain nodded sadly.

The medic scrubbed her hands over her face. "There are too many enemies to keep track of."

"I know." Cain rose from the floor, knees creaking in protest. "You asked me what we do now." As the medic's head rose, he looked down at her seriously. "It's like I told Jeb. It'll take a long time, but we have to keep tomorrow in our sights." He reached out and patted her shoulder. "I know staying is going to be hard for you. It's hard enough for me as it is. But we need you here, Ainsley. It's like he said; you took an oath. You promised him."

As she looked up at him, she swore she saw her father's face instead of the elder Cain's. "You can do this," he assured her. "We both can. We have to." In the quiet of the room, she heard the silent ending to both their thoughts. _For him._

"I don't know if I can do this," the medic finally admitted. "I don't know how to have a tomorrow without him in it."

"Neither do I," Cain replied as he strode toward the door, "neither do I."

* * *

DG remained sitting on the balcony for an unknown length of time, and only turned when she heard footfalls behind her. Believing it to be her father, she rested her head against the marble wall and wished herself into invisibility. _Where's Harry and his cloak when you need him?_

The footsteps stopped, and someone cleared their throat. DG all but leapt to her feet when she realized the approaching man was not her father, but Cain instead.

"I'll go if you need me to," she said immediately, heart racing when he shook his head.

"I was looking for you," he admitted. "I wanted to…apologize for earlier."

This time, it was DG who shook her head fervently. "Cain, you don't have to—"

"I want to." His eyes were unreadable. "I just don't know how."

"You're talking to the wrong girl," she replied with a sad smile. "I seem to have a knack for screwing things up."

Cain walked to the edge of the balcony and stood in the same position she'd found him in earlier. "I know you didn't mean or plan for it to happen, DG, but I can't help but think that if you'd stayed put like I know your mother told you to…"

She bent her head guiltily. "When she told me they had you, I couldn't think straight. I just knew I had to get you out of there." She sighed deeply as he turned to face her.

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated, brows knotting. "I don't understand the question."

"Why risk your life for mine? Why come after me at all? Without backup or anything more than a half-assed plan? Why push your luck and walk blindly into a trap?"

DG took a step back at the intensity of his words. "You can't be serious."

"Try me."

"I wasn't just going to _leave_ you there, Cain! I wasn't going to sit on my pretty little throne and let them kill you!"

"Well, they killed Jeb instead."

She flinched as though he'd hit her. "I don't know what you want me to say," she said after a long, tense pause. "I'm not going to apologize for getting you out of there. I'd do it again if I had to."

"Why? It's not worth it."

She heard the self-doubt in his tone, and took a tentative step toward him. "Yes, you are."

He turned away from her, and she reached out, cupping his cheek in the palm of her hand, forcing him to face her. Though she doubted he wanted to hear it, she repeated the wordless _I love you_ she'd admitted to him when she made the trade. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"Please don't." He stepped out of her grasp. "I can't go through this again, DG. Not after Adora. Not after Jeb. I can't lose anyone else."

"All right," she acquiesced softly, stepping away from him. "I want you to know that I'm going to fix this. _We're _going to fix this."

He sighed. "I don't know if you can."

"I can sure as hell try." She searched his face and saw hesitancy. She kept her face and eyes wide open and strong, letting him in even if he could not return the favor. "I won't let him die in vain. I can't let these deaths be meaningless."

"There are going to be more deaths."

She shivered at the certainty she felt at his words. "If you've got any other suggestions, I'm more than willing to hear them."

The silence extended painfully over them, and all she heard was their tandem breathing. Finally, Cain turned back to face the balcony. "I think we're out of options."

"I know we are," the princess replied sadly, softly. "They think they can push us around. I'm going to teach them a thing or two. I'm not going down without a fight."

Cain remained silent, and she turned to go back into the tower, resisting the urge to reach out to him again. The night wind slammed the door emphatically behind her, but DG did not jump at the sound. Instead, she heard it as confirmation from the O.Z. that it trusted her to restore its good name.

She stepped resolvedly through the palace, strengthened in knowing exactly what she needed to do. She would not repeat her actions in the tent; she would not let anyone else down. She would not fail.

It really didn't matter who else was disappointed, because she'd already failed the most important person in her life.

* * *

The morning dawned with a low mist hanging over the O.Z. No one in the tower had slept much the night before, as visions of battles, blood and death permeated their minds. DG stood on the balcony again, eyes closed, as the beat of horse hooves came ever closer. The opposition had ignored the crown's eleventh hour attempt to negotiate.

The proclamation of war was sent before sunup.

The Royal Guard stood flanking the castle, and though their numbers had grown in the wake of Jeb's death and from his written requests to his former fighters, they were still badly outnumbered. From her vantage point, DG could see several of the mounted fighters craning their necks to look at her, and all she could do was nod her thanks and send a silent prayer to whatever god or gods ruled the O.Z. that they would not have to know casualty like their commanders.

Cain had been sworn in as a Captain, albeit reluctantly. But he seemed to understand that there were few people the Queen and her family trusted their safety to. Glitch and her father had also agreed to head up factions, and the youngest princess found herself thankful their belief in her didn't seem to waver in that moment, no matter how off-kilter she felt herself.

Ainsley had been asked to set up a makeshift hospital ward in the basement of the tower, and after a tense, silent moment, had finally agreed, though unable to look the members of the Royal Family in the eye as she did so. DG had privately asked Raw and Kalm to stay and assist the medic in any way they could.

Through field glasses, she saw the thunderous herd gaining ground, and heard a bugle sound as the opposition crested the final hill between their camp and the tower. She watched as the horses came to a full stop, and the lead fighter—Garrett, she assumed—circled around the front of his guard. Tension and insurmountable fear gripped the princess's stomach as she waited for him to charge forward.

She wished she'd had the guts to say goodbye properly to Cain, to say out loud the things she'd felt for some time now, but she'd known he wouldn't want to hear it, especially given the fact his son never got to say it to any of his loved ones. Instead, she'd just squeezed his hand, and he'd embraced her fleetingly, and then marched off to join Glitch and their hastily put together army.

The opposition flags were flying colorfully now, breaking through the grey mist of the early morning. The Royal Guard's horses seemed to sense the approach, though they couldn't see through the fog as DG could from the balcony. Finally, as the opposition fighters came to a stop, she raised her voice, praying it did not shake as the rest of her body did.

"We will grant you one last chance to enter into negotiations," she yelled, her voice going instantly hoarse. "You can stop this battle from ever beginning."

She heard Garrett's cold voice call back to her. "You had your chance to negotiate. You did not hear us then. Perhaps you will hear us now."

There was a bombastic blast from below, and DG had to hang on to the railing to keep her balance.

She closed her eyes, calling out a mournful prayer as the first gunfire spread across the assembly. _And so it begins._

End Chapter Nine


	10. And So It Begins

_Author's Notes: In honor of my brand new router and reestablished Internet connection, y'all get two chapters today. Aren't you special?_

_All weapon information mentioned in this chapter is factual. There's also some physical character injury, though not to the extent of previous chapters._

_Thanks to all of you gentle readers for sticking with me. It means more than words could ever say. I love you as much as I love that dirty water. _

_Alamo Girl, Meredith Paris and Padme Kenobi: Danke. A lot. Like, whoa._

_This chapter is for Asphalt Angel, whose story "The Good Witch" is the freaking __**BEST**__ post-Eclipse wartime fic I have ever, ever seen. Period. End of discussion. I can only hope I find one/one thousandth of your brilliance in describing this scenario. Seriously, guys, if you haven't read that yet, RUN. I'll still be here when you get back._

_Disclaimer in Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Ten: And So It Begins**

The early morning fog began to burn away beneath the rising suns, but the skies only darkened as the morning progressed. The thunderous rumbles of gunfire shook the rubble around the tower, and the smells that had permeated the air immediately after the Eclipse soured the landscape as though they had never left.

Wyatt Cain sat astride his horse, watching as the opposition forces came further into focus. He thought back to the last time he'd seen the enemy approach—the last stand at Central City. He'd been terrified then, though he never outwardly showed his fear. His heart had been in his throat for most of the standoff, but he never wavered; he'd had men to lead, just as he did now. But this time, he was simply numb as he heard DG attempt one final time to stop the inevitable. _The kid never knows when to leave well enough alone_, he thought.

Eyes scanning the approaching army, he was surprised to find himself thinking of what might have become of him if the "kid" had stayed on the path laid out for her. He'd found himself thinking a lot about DG since the night before, when he'd not even tried to find respite, knowing his shattered heart and soul would never fully be at peace again.

If the kid knew to leave well enough alone, she never would have let the Witch out. The Sorceress wouldn't have come to power. His wife and son would still be alive.

_If the kid knew to leave well enough alone, she wouldn't have come charging in to save your family armed with nothing more than a stick,_ his head reminded him. _You'd still be in that hell hole. You wouldn't have gotten to know your son again, no matter how brief the reunion may have been._

He had to admit begrudgingly, though not without a startled tint of pride, that the kid had done a lot of good since she'd barreled unceremoniously into his life. Whether he'd realized it before or not, she'd helped him push aside the all-consuming hatred, the unending blackness that had defined him for so long. They'd helped each other realize that the past was already done, and the future—one he never thought he'd have—was a slowly walked path, not a marathon, and it could only start with one, tiny step, borne of forgiveness.

She made him feel human again.

He thought back to the second or third night they'd spent in the tower, after she'd started to panic and had broken down in front of him. He recalled his words with embarrassment; he'd opened himself up to her in a way he'd never considered he could, and in a way that left him open and vulnerable, paramount sins in his book. But he found now that he still stood by his sentiments, no matter how emotional he'd been when he said them. They had to move forward. They had to take the hand dealt to them, and make the best play they could, no matter how lousy the cards.

She'd done what she thought was right. In the end, he couldn't fault her for that, as much as he might want to. He may not have been able to forgive her fully just yet, but he had to respect the fact that she'd fought tooth and nail for what she believed in. She'd been willing, more than once, to sacrifice herself for the cause, to save another man's life.

Just like he had.

She made him feel things he'd forgotten how to feel, and silently supported him no matter his confusion or discomfort; she did not waver, even when he did. Especially not now. There she was, standing on the balcony, calling out a desperate plea to an even more desperate army, though she had to have known it would be futile. She was as strong as he'd ever seen her, unwilling to stand down.

She was keeping her word to him. She was going to end this, one way or another.

He realized that he'd already kept his promise to the Mystic Man. He'd stayed with her at all costs. And he'd continue to do so.

The first gunshot spooked several of the horses on his right, and the untrained riders were nearly thrown as the steeds bucked beneath them. Cain thrust his inopportune musings away and urged his mount into action, circling in front of the riders. There was no pep talk this time, no words of wisdom to be imparted. Each of the soldiers had their own reasons for being there, stronger and more influential than anything he could have thought to say.

The opposition fired again, and Cain called out to the sharpshooters entrenched and shielded by the boulders around the base of the tower. "Fire in the hole!"

Gunfire sent a cloud of smoke billowing back toward him, and he turned his horse toward the west, away from the rolling blackness. He heard the men reload and fire again, and heard the first cries of "Man down! Man down!" as they carried over the loud rumbling. He closed his eyes momentarily, letting the first yells settle the reality of another meaningless death over him.

The opposition was spread in a straight line, the ends of which curved toward the horizon, so many in number that he thought it could have stretched to the Other Side and back. Their strongest firepower was at the front of the company, and they expertly trained return fire on the foxholes in front of the tower.

He saw one of his own men's guns fire toward the sky as the boy fell backward, legs and a spurt of blood flying vertically like a geyser. Cain watched as the dead man's comrade moved his body out of the way, shut the boy's unseeing eyes, and took the dead soldier's pistol in his other hand, firing double-fisted.

The rebels continued their march toward the tower, the heavy, timed cadence deliberate and determined. The royal sharpshooters were outnumbered at least three to one, and were spread thin behind the protective boulders. Bullets flew ever closer toward the tower, zipping past the guards' heads. Most of his men were able to dodge the projectiles, but Cain saw a second spurt of crimson as another sharpshooter went down.

He dismounted from his horse and went to the foxhole, taking a gun from the pile of munitions they'd gathered after the declaration of war had been sent. He missed the relative ease of his six-shooter; this automatic machine gun was wobbly atop the trench wall, and scalded his fingers as they fed the ammunition through. The report and kick-back of the weapon momentarily deafened him, but he kept his hands as steady and sturdy as possible, seeking out as many rebel fighters as he could.

The opposition was curling into a tighter semi-circle, and Cain could see they were creating a squared formation to protect and replace their fighters as the battle continued. The boxed men maintained their approach, albeit more slowly now.

"Incoming!" someone yelled, and the Captain looked up to see a grenade hurtling toward them. He leapt over the two youngest soldiers next to him, flattening them to the ground and waiting for the inevitable explosion. When it did not come, he knew his disbelieving mutterings were being echoed by the enemy.

"Look!" one of the soldiers shouted, pointing up toward the tower.

Cain craned his head and saw the grenade suspended in mid-air, surrounded by a ball of white light. DG's face was red from the effort of trying to keep it from discharging. Even from his vantage point dozens of floors below, he could see the sheen of exertion dotting the princess's brow.

Then, the pulsing white light became blinding, and Cain, along with soldiers from both sides, shielded their faces. He could make out that a second figure had joined DG on the balcony, and knew that Az was mixing her magic to help her sister protect the tower.

_What in the hell are they doing, still outside and exposed?_ He wondered, momentarily angry. He answered himself in the next breath. _Saving your life. Again._

"The Sorceress!" someone on the opposition cried, and a hail of gunfire erupted again, this time pointed at the balcony above him. The white light fell suddenly, as did the grenade, and upon impacting in the trench below, the smell of burning flesh assailed the Tin Man's senses. Knowledge—information he wished to the gods he didn't know— told him they'd just lost half a dozen men with the inadvertent direct hit.

The rebels were focused on trying to take Az out, and Cain immediately knelt against the edge of the rock trench to take advantage of their momentary distraction. "Fire in the hole!" he urged again, feeding the automatic weapon and sweeping it across the enemy front line. There was a sickening sort of satisfaction as he saw several horses and riders go down, and he watched as their medics dodged bullets to retrieve the wounded.

The second line of rebels took their fallen comrades' places, and continued to hurl small caliber gunfire into the tower trenches. Cain found there was something disturbingly dirty about using Longcoat automatic weaponry in an effort to defend someone that, up until only a few weeks ago, he too believed should die for her crimes.

A second grenade flew in and rolled to the end of the trench. Without hesitation or conscious thought, Cain picked it up and hurled it back to the center of the battlefield. When it exploded, it caught the unburned end of one of the charges Jeb had laid when they stormed the tower the night of the Eclipse.

The detonation was deafening, and startled horses and riders on both sides. Cain couldn't help but smile; even though he was gone, his son was still fighting the good fight.

He didn't have time to send a thankful prayer to the heavens above, for the explosion shook the tenuous trenches around him. Chunks of rock, both from the boulders behind which he knelt, and pieces from the tower, began to rain down. He felt a large piece gash the side of his temple, and tasted the blood as it ran down his cheek and to the corner of his mouth.

"Captain!" someone called through the throbbing of his head, and it took a moment for his right eye to focus on his gunnery sergeant. "Do you need the medic?"

Cain shook his head. "Keep firing!" he ordered."We need to take out as many as we can."

His vision partially blurred, he trained the weapon back on the formation in front of him. The Royal Guards' armaments were stronger, but the opposition had them dead to rights in sheer manpower. A sinking feeling rooted his pressed knees further into the ground; once the bullets ran out, it would be all too easy for the opposition to ride in and take them as prisoners of war.

The gravel shifted beside Cain, and he had to fully turn away from the battle, squinting, to see Glitch crawling along the base of the foxhole. "They aren't moving from their formation," the advisor said, automatically cowering as Cain released another set of rounds on the opposition flank.

"They don't need to," Cain replied, hands burning from the quickly overheating metal of the automated gun. "They're just going to wait us out."

"What if we were able to force them back somehow?"

Cain wiped at the trail of sweat and blood curling down his cheek. "What are you suggesting?"

"According to my calculations, if we take some of the men from the north and south walls of the tower, we can surround them and take more out that way."

"If we take personnel from the north and south walls of the tower, those sides will be left defenseless. We're trying to _protect _the Queen, not give them an open-door policy to get to her!"

Glitch pursed his lips for a moment, and then spoke as another round of gunfire rained down on them, singeing his army coat. "I found more of Jeb's unused charges from the night of the Eclipse. We could relocate them; lay them down and surround the rebel formation. We'll keep a small group ready to detonate." At Cain's silence, Glitch, sounding very much like Ambrose in the moment, said, "They're waiting for us to tire out, or kill ourselves, Cain. They want us to hang ourselves. If we can surprise them by outflanking them, we have to do it."

Before Cain had a chance to reply, he noticed sharp, shiny objects arcing toward their location. "Everybody down!" he yelled, tackling Glitch as he had his gunnery mates. He heard a soft, feminine grunt from behind him and turned, seeing a young woman with a poisoned dart protruding from her neck. Her eyes were as blue as DG's, with hair as dark, and for one horrific moment, he could not see the nameless girl's face, but instead saw the princess—_his_ princess, no matter his reticence to admit it— lying there, seizing as the poison worked through her tiny body.

He felt a hand pulling on his arm, and turned his attention back to Glitch. "You want me to do this or not, Cain?" the former advisor asked.

Cain finally nodded, the image of dead blue eyes finally fading from his own retinas. "We'll need a decoy. They can't notice you coming."

Glitch nodded at him. "I'll find one," he promised. "We'll make this work."

"I want you and the Consort to take whatever you need. Gather the charges and see if you can surround their rear flanks. It'll be easier to take out the weakest link."

Glitch nodded, starting to make his way out of the foxhole. Stopping, he waited for an instant before turning back to Cain, extending his hand. "In case _I_ turn in to the sitting duck, it's been a pleasure, Wyatt Cain."

The Tin Man's left eye blurred as much as his right eye, which still remained cloudy from the shrapnel hit. "Today ain't the day to lose anybody else, Glitch, least of all you. I owe ya one, remember? Now, go!"

Glitch crawled along his stomach through the trenches, and then took off at a mad dash to the opposite side of the tower. Cain looked up again, intending to send a wholehearted prayer to beings he only halfheartedly believed in. He caught sight of DG still on the balcony, though she was mostly hidden by the marble pillars, except when looked up at from his particular angle.

Their eyes met, and as he made to yell for her to return to the safety of the castle, she screamed out first.

"Cain!"

He looked up to see a spear arcing perfectly, headed straight for his weapon. He dove to the right, knocking his head against the piece of boulder that had injured him earlier. He curled himself away as the metal of the spear sparked the gunpowder in the low hanging bullets that circled the underbelly of the machine gun.

The explosion rocked the trenches again, and he saw his gunny crushed to death beneath some large boulder pieces from the crumbling tower. With great effort, Cain tried to move further back, but found that he was pinned on his back, his legs mangled beneath heavy chunks of granite. Wincing, he tried to pull his limbs free, but knew with the cracking of the bones in his calves that his movements were doing more harm than good.

He reached behind his head, extending arms and fingers as widely as he could, trying to find some weapon with which to return fire, as his service pistol sat in his holster, beneath the rocks. The boulders rested on his knees, meaning he could sit up at his waist and ignore, just as he had done for so many annuals and under so many different circumstances, the devastating pain defining him at the moment.

As his fingers brushed against something metal and he tried mightily to pull whatever it was toward him, he heard more cracking from the vicinity of his legs. He winced at the sound and the knowledge that the main bones in his legs were probably little more than dust now. He prepared himself for the shifting of the rocks to pin him further into the muddy ground, but instead of feeling more pressure, he started to feel relief.

He looked down toward his feet and saw the boulder shake from side to side like a marionette. Then, ever so slowly, it lifted from his legs and hovered parallel to the top and outside of the trench wall, several feet off the ground. Cain used his hands to push back away from the rock, legs screaming in agony. He waited for the boulder to fall back to the ground, to where he had been sitting, but was shocked to see it quickly lift up and hurtle itself toward the enemy front line.

He looked up to the balcony, where DG still sat, eyes closed, her right hand in Azkadellia's. The women used their free hands to mime throwing the boulder, and upon impact, the rock shattered and forced the first few lines of the opposition to retreat.

Cain simply stared at the princesses, and when DG met his gaze again, she merely nodded once, as though to say, _I'm right here with you, and I'm not going anywhere. _Her eyes were light and defiant, as though she expected him to argue.

Instead, the Tin Man returned the nod, his outward expression mostly devoid of any emotion other than grateful acknowledgement. But his eyes—the eyes only she seemed to know how to read as openly as he read her—were as open as hers were, and he saw her nod again, apparently understanding what he didn't know how to say.

Turning, he grabbed the nearest gun. His had been destroyed in the explosion, but his gunnery sergeant's had merely toppled over. He winced as he used his upper body strength to pull the weapon to him. Laying it on top of the remaining fortifications and using the scope to determine how DG and Azkadellia's attack had rearranged the opposition, he fired off round after round, the pain in his legs much more overwhelming than the burning in his hands as he fed the bullets through the chamber.

For all the firepower he and the remaining sharpshooters were throwing at them, it seemed that the boulders now flying nonstop through the air were the only things that pushed the rebels further back. Cain could feel a white hot wind on his neck, as though he were sunburned, and knew those stubborn Gale girls were still on that balcony, using untrained, barely controlled magic in their efforts.

He surprised himself again when a proud grin touched his lips. _Captain will always go down with the ship. That's my girl._

* * *

From their vantage point on the balcony, DG could see her pitching prowess had sent the opposition fleeing and stepping out of formation for the first time since they'd approached at dawn. The suns were setting, and a dark blanket would soon cover the battleground. _Perfect time for sneak attacks,_ she thought, still crouched behind the pillars with Az. Their parents had forbidden them to be anywhere near the battlefield, but Az had agreed with DG's semantics when she said privately that, _technically¸_ they were above the battle. No field involved.

As she held tightly to her sister's hand, DG wished she could be in the trenches. As the day had progressed, she realized she understood Cain on a completely different level now. She'd always wondered why this seemingly kind, gentle, patient man, who valued his knowledge of right and wrong above all other virtues, had been so myopic in his desire to kill Zero. He had been a Tin Man, defender of the law, but at one point, he was willing to sacrifice his soul for something that didn't even come close to being called justice.

But now, as she looked through binoculars at the center of the rebels, her eyes trained on Garrett as he sat in the middle of his forces. Now she understood what rage really was. She understood how one moment, one event, one single image that turns into a horror movie playing endlessly in one's mind, could turn a normally sane, rational person into a killer.

She wanted him dead with such ferocity that she almost wished the Witch were here to teach her how to suck the tainted, dirty, murderous soul right out of him.

Azkadellia looked over at her sister. "There is much rage in you."

DG couldn't help it; she laughed. "Thanks, Yoda."

Az's face only deepened in concern. "That rage will blind you. It'll consume you, and you can't walk away from that. Calm down." She moved to her knees, while DG remained sitting cross-legged on the balcony. "We should go to Mother and Ainsley in the ward. They're going to need our help treating the casualties."

The eldest princess stood, and there was an incoherent yell from the center of the battlefield. Azkadellia went down with a high-powered rifle shot to the chest before DG had time to blink.

DG scrambled to her knees. "Az!" she cried, pressing both hands to her sister's chest, her small fingers darkening with flowing blood as it bubbled around her knuckles. "Oh, God. AZ! NO!"

Her voice echoed past the fortified walls of the tower, and she knew the opposition had heard her when a great cheer erupted across the field.

DG had always believed the saying _seeing red_ was a cliché, but as she looked toward the cheering factions, all she could see was the death and destruction these people had caused. She did not care about their motives or their own losses in that moment. She cared about her own.

She focused on the largest boulder she could see, one at the edge of the foxhole where Cain and the shooters continued to resist the rebel advance. She'd needed Az's help to lift the rocks off Cain's legs, but this time, her anger and fury, the dark antithesis of the white light that flowed through her, was muscle enough. The boulder, and several adjoining ones, flew through the air as though they were feathers, and fell in the direct center of Garrett and his men.

Defiantly, DG called out, "Long live the House of Gale!"

She turned back to her sister, whose eyes were open and filled with tears. "Hang on, Az," DG pleaded, replacing her hand with her sister's as it rested over her wound. "I need you to keep pressure on it until I can get you downstairs, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Az nodded weakly, and, praying her days of running track hadn't rusted like the rest of her life on the Other Side had, DG scooped her sister up into a fireman's carry and raced inside the castle, dodging the bullets that followed their feet.

She screamed all the way inside, finally losing her footing halfway down the hall. "Somebody HELP!" she cried, crashing painfully to her knees as Az flopped in her arms.

There was no answer.

Azkadellia's head was lolling from side to side, and DG could hear the air mix with the blood in the bullet wound. In the hall outside her parents' room, DG saw a chair sitting against the wall. "Okay, Az. You're going to be okay."

"DG—"

"If you die on me, Azkadellia, I swear on all that is holy that I will kick your ass in to next week." She looked seriously down at her sister, whose brown eyes showed fear that surpassed what she'd shown as they exorcised the Witch on the night of the Eclipse. "Az, I just got you back. You're not going anywhere. Got it?"

DG closed her eyes and concentrated on pulling the chair from across the hall. As its ornate gold leafing flecked off onto the dark marble floor, the chair finally came to sit next to the sisters. The youngest princess heaved her sister into a sitting position and peeled off her coat, pressing it against the wound. "Hang on, Az. Just hang on."

She sprinted down the hall at record speed, pushing her slumping sister and screaming at the top of her lungs. She was past full panic when her mother ran up to meet her.

"Oh, dear heavens, no!" the Queen cried, kneeling before her daughter. "Azkadellia? Azkadellia, my darling?" Over her shoulder, the Queen called, "Doctor Lowry! We need you immediately!"

Ainsley joined them in the hall, her once white protective coat tinged pink. She looked between mother and daughters, and as the medic took a step backward, DG knew she was debating as to whether she should help the people who, in her mind, had murdered the love of her life.

Az opened her eyes momentarily, focusing them on the medic. "Ainsley," she said weakly, "please help me."

The blonde did not reply, but turned and called over her shoulder. "I need Raw and Kalm out here, NOW!"

The two furry Viewers raced from the ward, and the medic helped DG lay Azkadellia on the floor. The Queen knelt at her eldest daughter's head, softly singing the lullaby of their youth, before things had all gone to hell.

Raw knelt on Az's left and held out his hands over the gunshot wound. "Has lost much blood."

"Any internal damage?" Ainsley asked, pulling a pair of surgical scissors from her coat pocket and cutting Az's shirt in half.

"Raw and Kalm can heal," the Viewer replied. "But Ainsley should get plasma to help."

The medic dashed off back toward the makeshift hospital, and DG watched as her friends covered the chest wound with their paws. Both men grimaced as they fought through the pain and the damage, and DG took her sister's hand, envisioning the hole in her chest and mentally stitching it closed.

She felt a furry paw on her arm almost immediately. Raw was shaking his head. "Cannot help this time, Princess. Let Raw work."

"Sorry," she replied, her shame at being unable to help fix her sister twisting into further darkness inside her. She'd been unable to help Jeb as well, not knowing how to use or control her magic alone. And now, it seemed as though another life would end because of her shortcomings.

She thought back to her promise to Cain, and in an instant, she was back on her feet, striding steadfastly toward the tower stairs. Her mother looked up at her with wide, concerned eyes.

"DG, my darling, where are you going?"

"Where every military leader should be. I'm going to the battlefield."

"Absolutely not." The Queen was firm and hard. "You shouldn't have been up on that balcony in the first place, young lady. You're certainly not going to the front lines."

When the princess began to protest, the Queen held up her hand, fingers dripping with her eldest daughter's blood. "I know you want to help, DG, but you seem to have an uncanny ability to run into things without thinking. Please, just this once, do as I say and help me care for the people defending us. You can be of more help here."

From the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes, rage blanketed itself in anger, and then wrapped itself again in fury. She saw her mother's eyes go wide at the change in her demeanor and posture, and the grey-haired woman leapt to her feet.

"DG, calm down."

"I _can't_!" she cried, throwing her hands in the air. The tapestries that hung from floor to ceiling slammed violently against the stone wall, moving with the force of her anger-amplified magic. Kalm looked at the youngest princess and backed quickly away, pulling his knees to his chest, huddling against the wall in fear.

"You're losing control," her mother said cautiously, extending a hand. "Don't let the darkness take over."

In the lightness of her mother's lavender eyes, DG could see her own reflection, and saw that her once light orbs were wide and nearly black. She shook as she fought to keep the rage at bay, but felt herself slipping.

And she liked it.

"I can finish this," she told her mother hotly. "I can finish _them_."

A sticky hand wrapped around her calf, and DG looked down at her sister, whose eyes had opened, and whose breathing had improved as Raw worked. "DG, if you go there, you'll never come back."

"I'll be right outside. I can defend myself."

Az shook her head, coughing. "That's not what I meant. You do this, and it will be as though the Witch never left."

DG could barely control the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. "We have to do something!"

"We _are_ doing something, my love," the Queen pleaded, hand still extended as though sheer will could keep another of her daughters from falling into the darkness. "Listen."

"I don't hear anything," DG said after a moment.

"Exactly," the Queen replied. "The fighting has stopped for now. We've pushed them back. We all need to regroup, you most of all, I think."

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Az said from the floor.

Her mother spared her a patented motherly glare before addressing DG again. "You must learn to control yourself, DG."

"Hey, you try realizing you've got a built-in magic wand and see how easy you find life after that."

"That's not what I meant." The Queen took a step forward to her daughter, putting her hands on the younger woman's shoulders. "Your sister's right, my dear. It is much easier for the darkness to overtake the light, magic or no. The biggest battle you will fight from here on out is within you, not out there."

Raw cleared his throat, and helped ease Azkadellia in to a sitting position. "Should get princess to Doc. Will need to rest."

DG stepped away from her mother and helped Raw lift Az back into the chair. They pushed her into the infirmary and Ahamo, fresh from the battlefield, lifted his daughter onto one of the cots. He stepped back into the grateful arms of his wife while Ainsley threaded an IV, began administering antibiotics and double checking Raw's handiwork.

DG saw the blonde medic look up toward the door and turned to follow the other woman's gaze. There, standing in the doorway, supported by two young men who had no business having pimples, let alone fighting in a war, was Wyatt Cain.

DG rushed to him, reaching out and pulling along a wheelchair as she passed. The two men eased the Tin Man into it, and she knelt before him, eyes watering at the torn, bloodied lower half of his pant legs.

He reached out and touched the top of her hair, so lightly that she wondered if he even knew he was doing it. _Not that I mind._ "I'm fine, kiddo."

The darkness she'd been feeling dissipated at his gentle stroking. He'd barely spoken to, let alone touched, her since Jeb's death. She let her eyes slip shut momentarily, and warmth flooded through her as he reestablished contact. But when she opened them again to look him in the face, she couldn't suppress a shiver at his obvious pain. "You're hurt."

"Yeah, I think so."

Ainsley came up beside DG, sighing at the obvious damage to Cain's legs. "That's going to require surgery. Looks like you broke both tibias."

Cain tried to smirk. "Can't do anything half-assed." At the annoyed looks from both medic and princess, he continued, "You can just set 'em. I'll rest and be fine in the morning."

"Hm, maybe your hearing has been affected too." Ainsley leaned over him, checking him quickly for other injuries. "You broke _both_ tibias. Surgery. No exceptions, no placations, no excuses."

"No glowering, 'I'm a big, mean Tin Man with a gun and you can't stop me'," DG added, relieved and pleased when the half-smirk came closer to being a full smile.

The blonde medic did not echo his expression, though DG thought it seemed like she was trying very hard not to. "You need something for pain?" the blonde asked Cain, leaning back from her authoritative stance.

His eyes were still masked as he looked to the littlest princess, but were more obvious when he addressed the doctor. "Yes."

Ainsley looked over her shoulder and summoned some of the volunteer nurses. "Let's get Mr. Cain set up somewhere quiet, please, and get me some morphine sulfate." She stepped around the back of the wheelchair and began to push Cain to the far corner of the infirmary.

DG stood in the doorway and watched as the orderlies stripped him of his beloved vest and duster and covered him in an ill-fitting hospital smock. She winced at his grimace when they laid him in the bed, and could not stop herself from moving when Ainsley began to place splints quickly around his legs.

DG pulled the nearest empty cot to her and sat at Cain's head, folding her fingers in her lap, watching as a nurse threaded an IV into Cain's wrist. She did not reach out to him; she felt as though she did not deserve to, given all she'd had a hand in inflicting on him. Part of her also worried he'd continue to push her away if she advanced too quickly. But she'd be damned if she let him go through any more pain alone just because they were both stubborn as all hell.

After the splints were in place, Ainsley pushed the pain medication through the IV. The Tin Man had been silent as his legs were set, but finally breathed a sigh of relief as the medicine worked its way into his system.

DG had kept her eyes anywhere but on Cain's face during the procedure, but blue eyes met blue eyes when he reached out with his left hand and slowly covered hers, as though afraid it would burn him. "You don't have to stay."

"I know," she replied, stomach tightening at the long-missed touch, "but I'd like to. If it's okay with you."

"You have the most annoying thing for penance, kid."

DG smiled tiredly. "I know."

As his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing deepened and evened as he slept, she reached down and placed a gentle, lingering kiss on his temple. "I'm sorry I keep hurting you," she whispered. "Maybe someday you can forgive me."

As she leaned back on her cot, she swore she heard him reply, the weak, tired murmur somehow ringing clearly over the bustle of the ward.

"I'll get there eventually, kiddo. One day."

End Chapter Ten


	11. Becoming

_Author's Notes: Glompy, mobat shit crazy hugs to all of you lovely readers and reviewers. Your love and support is SO GOOD! SO GOOD! You know I couldn't live without you; you are the only, only, only. (Why, yes, I __did__ just mix Neil Diamond and the Dropkick Murphys. Why do you ask?)_

_Muchas gracias y besos to Alamo Girl and Padme Kenobi for their exquisite beta and cheerleading skills. This one's for Meredith Paris, the Statler to my Waldorf._

_This section is a slight shift from the last two Battle!Scene! chapters, so I apologize in advance for the change. Hopefully it still meets expectations. There is, however, some flangst (fluff and angst) for you in here to tide you over 'til The Big Finish. We'll get back to your regularly scheduled action in the next chapter, I promise._

_Chapter Twelve will be up Friday morning. The epilogue should be up late Friday evening, probably as the significant other and I compete to see who can yell louder during the Celtics/Hawks game. _

_Disclaimer in Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Becoming**

The new day dawned brightly, with barely a cloud in the sky, as though the gods were ignorant of the hellish goings-on beneath their feet.

The landscape of the O.Z., particularly the small plot of land between Central City and the former tower of the Sorceress, began to stir with both men and trees groaning and stretching into wakefulness.

In the tower, several bleary and red-eyed individuals sat at a long, ornately carved wooden table. Stacks of paper traded hands so quickly that the fluttering of the parchment barely registered. The smell of coffee permeated the room, and several of those gathered there wished they had more than rations to snack on for breakfast.

The hall doors opened, and those seated at the table rose to greet Her Majesty and the Consort. The Queen was well past the point of exhaustion, and the medic in the room wondered if she was bordering on delirium for having been awake for so many hours. But outwardly, the Queen gave no indication that she was fatigued; as she glided into the room, it was as though she was approaching with plans for a ball and not there to strategize on how to keep her kingdom from falling into further ruin.

After she seated herself, the medic and the other assembled members of the Royal Army followed suit. The Queen looked down the table, and the medic saw her try unsuccessfully to stifle a sigh. "Where is DG?" the Queen asked, looking at Ainsley.

"I left her in the infirmary with Princess Azkadellia and Mr. Cain, Your Majesty," the doctor replied.

"I can go get her, my dear," the Consort said, pushing his chair back from the conference table.

The Queen shook her head. "No, that's quite all right. I'll speak to her later. Now," she continued, folding her hands and placing them on top of the wooden surface, "I have just met with the resistance negotiators." Her tone and face indicated the meeting had been less than fruitful. "They will keep fighting until the House of Gale is overthrown." She looked down the table at Ralph Emmersly, who had come from his home near the crack in the O.Z. when he heard of Jeb's death. "Casualty reports?"

Ralph made to stand, but the Queen shook her head minutely, and the man remained seated. "Of our two hundred and ten fighters, Your Highness, we have forty-seven dead. We estimate the total opposition numbers to be closer to four hundred and fifty, maybe five hundred. From our vantage point, we saw them dig about fifteen to twenty graves overnight."

The Queen turned to the medic. "How many injured?"

"Thirty-nine with major injuries, and who are required to stay in the ward for further treatment," the medic replied. "Those with minor wounds have already reported back to the battlefield."

The Queen looked to the opposite end of the table. "Ambrose, do you have any further information on the opposition?"

Glitch nodded and slid a diagram to the Queen. "They've regrouped into a box formation. Any time the front line is damaged, or has been exposed for a certain length of time, they simply alternate them to the back. In essence, after a full rotation of their lines, the men are rested and refueled."

"But they do not advance." The Queen tapped her finger thoughtfully against her chin.

"No, Your Majesty. The firepower we stole from the Longcoats is stronger than theirs, but it cannot cross great distances. They know that if we want to really damage them, we'd have to come from behind our defenses and approach _them._ I think they're waiting for us to run out of supplies and munitions, and give up."

"Well, I intend to do no such thing." The Queen turned to her husband. "Tell me about these charges you found."

Ahamo looked quickly at Ainsley, who focused on her small cup of coffee, and the moisture ring it was leaving on the tabletop. "When the former Resistance stormed the tower on the night of the Eclipse, Jeb Cain and his men wired the base of the tower with explosives. Once they detonated, the Longcoats diverted from guarding the tower. Once the coast was clear for DG to get inside undetected, the remaining charges were not set off."

"We examined the wiring last night, Your Highness," Glitch added, "and we think we can surround the rebels' east and west flanks."

"In order to do that, you'd have to divert men from the tower," the Queen countered, and after a moment, Glitch nodded.

"We would require at least five men per side." He slid another paper toward her, and the Queen quickly picked up the plan and scanned it. "We'd still have enough for a skeleton crew to guard the outer walls, Majesty, though the risk for casualty would be greater."

"It'd be a suicide mission," the Queen said bluntly, letting the paper fall to the table with a sigh.

"Several of Jeb Cain's men have already volunteered to reroute the wiring. I'll lead one team, and Ambrose will lead the other," Ahamo said, placing a hand on his wife's arm. "Tactically, this is the best we can do right now. They still refuse to negotiate; they think they can win."

The Queen rubbed the back of her neck, and the medic had to look away as the Consort massaged the base of her skull. Jeb had done that for her countless nights, as though the mere feeling of his fingers on her skin could rid her of the long, painful day she'd had. She needed that touch more now than she ever had before.

The conversation in the room stopped, and when Ainsley looked up, she saw that all eyes were trained on her. She cleared her throat. "I beg your pardon?"

Glitch looked at her, obviously annoyed. "The Queen asked you if there had been any changes with Princess Azkadellia and Wyatt Cain."

Ainsley fought to keep the blush from giving away her embarrassment. "The Princess continues to recover. Mr. Raw and Mr. Kalm's quick efforts ensured that the damage from the bullet remained relatively minor. However, given her already weakened state, and the fact that she used so much of her magic when not at full strength, she needs to remain under observation."

"And Mr. Cain?"

"I'll begin preparing him for surgery as soon as we're done here."

The Queen pursed her lips. "That will leave us one medic and one commander down." She looked around the table to the various section leaders. "Do any of you men have anyone with enough skill to take Mr. Cain's place in the trenches?"

The four faction leaders looked at each other, and then shook their heads. "If I may, Your Majesty," one said—_Angus Phillips,_ the medic's mind supplied, _you fixed his daughter's broken arm last annual_—"most of our fighters are young and inexperienced. They've never dealt with Longcoat style firepower before. It's trial and error at best."

"I can do it."

The room shifted and creaked as the assembly members turned to face DG, who stood in the doorway. If her mother had looked exhausted, the princess was nothing more than a walking corpse.

Her father leapt to her aid, and guided his youngest daughter to sit next to her mother. DG took the lukewarm coffee pot and filled a mug as though the liquid was the only thing sustaining her at the moment.

"Out of the question," the Queen replied, and DG's eyes sparked.

"I know how to shoot. I've got a good eye. Soda cans didn't stand a chance against me when I was on the Other Side."

Phillips cleared his throat. "With all due respect, Your Highness, this isn't target practice. These are large weapons with uncontrollable recoil for someone who's inexperienced."

"You need somebody in that foxhole. I can do this."

"I think it's easily said you've done quite enough at this point," Ainsley replied, unable to keep the bite out of her voice.

DG did not blink, meeting the intensity of the medic's stare with equal fervor, her voice just as hard. "I'm not going to hole up and hide. I'm not going to wait for them to rush us, and catch us off guard. If I can help, I'm going to."

"You tried to help before, and it's gotten people killed." Ainsley's grip tightened around her coffee cup, knuckles whitening under the strain.

"DG," the Queen broke in, "you will be an even greater target the closer you are to the opposition. Should—should something happen to me or to your sister, we will need you available to lead our men."

"Nothing's going to happen to you or to Az. Besides, putting me out front will distract those bastards. It'll make it easier for Glitch and Dad to get their men into position and blow 'em all to hell." The youngest princess stood, palms flattened against the conference table. "They're not going to sit back and wait on us forever. They'll advance eventually, and God only knows what they'll do once they reach us. This is our only chance. We _have_ to take it."

"I think the men will listen to her," Ahamo said after a long, tense moment. "And she's right. It could give us the opening we need to push them back."

"It seems we have no other option," the Queen sighed. "Ambrose, Ahamo, gather your men. Box in the opposition, and detonate the charges."

"Mr. Cain said there are Longcoat cars facing the south," Ahamo said. "Our remaining men can patrol by car along the exteriors. We won't lose that much ground, even if we move the men to discharge the explosives."

"Very well," the Queen replied. "Do it." She rose, and the assembled parties rose with her. Ainsley finished the remainder of her coffee and started to walk back to the infirmary when a hand on her arm stopped her. "A moment, if you please, Doctor Lowry."

The other parties left them in silence, and the medic suddenly knew what it felt like to be scrutinized and examined as though under a microscope. The Queen's knowing lavender eyes raked quickly over her before settling on the medic's eyes.

"I appreciate that you have been under a great deal of stress for several days," the Queen began, "and for that, I am truly sorry. However, you would do well to remember that when addressing my daughter, you are addressing the Royal House. No matter your personal feelings toward her or her actions, you will refer to her with the respect befitting her station. Am I clear?"

Cowed, Ainsley swallowed, the remnants of the coffee catching in her throat. "You have my sincerest apologies, Your Majesty. It won't happen again." She made to leave, stopped again when the Queen spoke.

"You have suffered life's greatest and most cruel tragedies, Doctor. I cannot begin to fathom how difficult it must be for you to remain here, given the circumstances."

The medic ducked her head as her stomach dropped. "I'm just doing what I think is right."

The Queen stepped in front of her and took the younger woman's hands within her own. "As we all are, Ainsley. We are not going to agree on how to go about it. We're going to lose those we love to the fight. But in the end, I have the utmost faith that good will once again triumph over evil. We must focus on the larger picture, the end result. And we must, above all else, support each other. No matter our differences, we must work together. Our enemy cannot be from within. The true enemy is on the other side of those trenches."

The medic nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. I understand." _At least, I'm trying like hell to._

"Very good." The Queen stepped back, allowing the blonde to finally pass. "I shall be seeing you quite soon, Doctor."

Ainsley curtseyed. "Thank you, Your Majesty." She threw the door open, fiery, embarrassed tears burning the back of her eyelids. She bypassed the infirmary and ran to a lower level, hurling the back door to the kitchen open in her haste to escape. Immediately, she had four rifles trained on her, and she instinctively put her hands up in defense.

"Stand down," she heard Glitch say as she willed her heart to return to a normal sinus rhythm. "It's just the medic." As the guards turned away from her, moving around the tower in preparation for their counterattack, the medic sank to her knees, breathing heavily. She couldn't bring herself to look to the heavens, for she'd only expect to see Jeb's face looking down at her, and her heart could not take it when it did not appear.

She saw a shadow move to her right, and then a hand came in front of her face, grasping a glass of water. The medic looked up and saw DG with a concerned look on her face. "Go on," the princess said when the medic didn't move, "it's not poisoned or anything."

Obediently, the blonde took the glass and sipped shortly at it. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"DG," the princess replied, sitting in the dirt next to her. "Just DG, remember?" The early morning breeze tossed both women's hair behind their shoulders, and DG shook her head, trying to rid the curls sticking to her cheeks. "I didn't mean for them to kill him."

The doctor nearly choked on the water. Her sputtering allowed DG to continue speaking with little interruption. "I didn't think they'd do it, Ainsley. If I'd thought it was really a possibility, I'd have done something else, _anything _else to get them back. I thought they just wanted us to listen."

Coughing a few more times before she could speak, the medic saw the heavy lines around DG's eyes, matched only by the dark circles beneath them. She saw the way the princess 's shoulders dipped in resignation, and the way the young woman was curled up within herself, as though she were in severe physical pain, not just emotional. As the doctor opened her mouth, DG finally looked up from the ground, eyes shining with tears. "I took away his only son, Doc. I took away the love of your life. Believe me when I tell you that I will _never_ forgive myself. Ever. But Cain said something to me at the beginning of this whole thing…he said that while we may not be able to move on, we have to move forward. I can't make this right, but I can do something to make sure nobody else loses their son, or their husband."

"The minute those bastards realize you're in those trenches, they're going to do their damndest to kill you. Then your parents would lose their daughter, and Cain would lose…whatever you are to him. You'd just continue the cycle."

The princess leaned towards her. "I'll tell you something," she said, lowering her voice, "If they try and take me out, I really don't care. I have to do something, and this is all I _can_ do. I'm just doing the only thing I'm good at: fighting like hell. If I can take some of them down with me, I'll do it in a second."

When the medic did not reply, DG stood and moved to the kitchen door. Ainsley finally looked up at the morning clouds, the threatening tears finally freeing themselves when she saw nothing but vast expanses of white. She rubbed tiredly at her eyes, and then turned her head when DG spoke softly.

"Thank you for staying, and for helping Az and Cain."

Ainsley nodded absently. "It's like you said. I'm just doing the only thing I know how to do."

Both women were silent for a moment, and DG made to move back into the castle, stopping when the medic said her name.

"It wasn't your fault." They were the four hardest words she'd ever had to say. She saw DG's shadow shift across the ground as the princess turned to look at her directly, but the medic did not raise her eyes to meet the other woman's. "You didn't have a choice. You had to get him back no matter what." She looked at her hands. "I understand…loving someone that much. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing."

The blonde finally looked up, and caught the last traces of DG's wavering smile in the sunshine. "Just be safe. He needs you."

The medic watched as the princess nodded, squaring her shoulders and swinging the kitchen door open. Neither woman said another word before the heavy door clanged shut like a reverberating call to arms.

* * *

After another brief strategy session with Glitch and her parents, DG walked through the tower hallways and down the few floors to the infirmary. Her sister was still sleeping, but Cain was up and looked grumpier than hell. He was keeping his voice low, but it was obvious to the princess that he was arguing with the nurse, and was becoming quite pissed off that he wasn't winning.

DG crossed the room and sat down on the cot next to his. Cupping her chin in her hand, she couldn't control the smirk on her face as she watched the battle of wills rage before her.

Finally, Cain looked directly at her. "Something funny, Princess?"

DG pretended to pout. "Don't stop on my account. I was enjoying the show."

The nurse hastily curtseyed when she realized she had royal company. "Good morning, Your Highness."

DG smiled. "Good morning." Inclining her head to indicate Cain, she said, "He giving you problems?"

The nurse fought to find a diplomatic reply. DG merely laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."

Cain all but growled at her amusement. "Are you here just to make fun of the man in the infirmary bed, or did you have something you needed?"

_Okay, definitely not a morning person, Tin Man,_ DG thought. "Why so cheerful this morning?"

Cain sighed. "I need to be out there," he said, motioning to the thin windows overlooking the battlefield. "We've lost too many men as it is."

Tentatively, DG put a hand on his arm. "You need to focus on getting better. You can commence with the ass-kicking later."

Cain's eyes were serious. "Kiddo, I don't know how much of a _later_ there's going to be."

She leaned in, memorizing every line, every tint of blue to his eyes. "I'll let you in on a secret. We've got a plan."

He didn't hesitate in his reply. "I don't like your plans."

She sat back, brows knotting. "_Excuse_ me?"

He tilted his head at her. "You're a magnet for trouble if there ever was one, kiddo." When she did not reply, his inspection intensified. "What aren't you telling me?"

She swallowed. "Everything's going to be fine. I just thought you should tell me to _break a leg_, since you seem to be the expert on that right now."

"Don't bullshit me, DG."

She sighed. "The night of the Eclipse, Jeb laid more charges than he detonated. My father and Glitch are relocating them, and we're going to surround and take out the opposition that way. Or, we're going to try."

"Glitch mentioned that yesterday," Cain confirmed, eyes still trained uncomfortably on her. "That means he found a…" He shook his head as realization dawned. "No. Absolutely not." He started to throw the blankets back and sought to find purchase on the infirmary's stone floor.

"Hey, hey!" DG protested, pushing him back down on the mattress. "You're not going anywhere, Wyatt Cain, except to the OR."

"You can't go out there and be the sacrificial lamb, DG. You'll be playing right into their hands."

"I can handle myself, Cain. I know how to handle a gun."

"You ever been shot, kid?" At her silence, he continued. "DG, you can't go out there."

"I'm of no use sitting pretty in here. I have to do something to help, and if taking your place in the trenches is a way to do that, I will."

His hand found hers, and he hung on tightly, eyes piercing hers. "They could kill you."

Her voice was little more than a strained whisper. "I know."

"Sacrificing yourself won't bring him back. It won't assuage any of our guilt."

_Our._ The word rang in her head for a moment. She knew he felt as responsible as she did, but somehow, the simple phrase tightened the rope tethering them together, repairing its frayed, damaged body. She found strength and something she thought she'd lost—faith—in the reclamation of the bond that had lingered between them for so long, and under so many circumstances. It warmed her just as much as his hand on hers did, and she used it as impetus to push her furthermore into the inevitable.

She realized he was looking at her expectantly, and she replied, her voice much stronger than it had been. "I know that. But it's not about me, though, or even you, really. It's about trying to fix what needs fixing." She tilted her head down at him, features softening as she reassured him. "I can do this."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't have to like it."

"I'm fairly certain nobody does." She turned his hand beneath her palm, threading their fingers together. "All you've wanted these past years was to make a better O.Z. That's what I want, too. This is the only way I know how at this point. Let me do that, Cain." _For you. For my family. For Jeb._

He dropped his chin to his chest briefly in resignation. "You've made up your mind."

"'Fraid so, Tin Man."

"And I can't stop you."

"Have you ever been able to?"

The comment pulled a sad half-smile to his lips. "Promise me something."

Her throat became suddenly dry. "Anything."

"Be careful."

She tried to smile. "Where's the fun in that?"

"I'm serious." He looked exceptionally, painfully uncomfortable, and DG knelt on the floor next to him.

"Do you need something, Cain?"

"I need you to be careful." He cupped her cheek as he repeated himself. The plea in his eyes was implicit. _Come back._

"I promise," she replied, lacing her fingers with his. "I'll be back before you know it." She stood, squeezing his hand one more time. "No driving the nurses crazy," she ordered. "And keep an eye on my sister for me."

"Always," he promised, and she leaned down, placing a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"Take it easy, Tin Man."

As she tried to walk away, their hands remained clasped, as they had when she'd traded herself for him. This time, though, she swore they hung on tighter.

When she was finally able to separate herself from him, she strode out of the room and to the front lines, barely able to see through her tears.

End Chapter Eleven


	12. The Enemy Walks In

_Author's Notes: Well, we're coming to the end, folks. I hope the ride has been pleasant, if not a little bumpy. Hey, I never said I was a good driver!_

_To all of you ever fantastic readers: I truly, truly have no words to thank you. You rock more than a first place finish in the AL East. _

_Grazie to M, B and E, my favorite letters of the alphabet. Now I'm running out of foreign languages in which to thank you girls! Sheesh._

_A million thank yous, two million cookies, and three million "Hey there, Princess" Leaping!Hugs to both Lattelady and Alexandra3, whose suggestions and insights regarding this chapter were invaluable. Both of you have no idea how much help you've been to me; thank you __**SO**__ much for your time and effort. Seriously, guys, I don't even want to think about how many of you could have been injured from facepalming or headdesking if not for these two._

_This one's for Bee, because I hurt her dancing phalanges. But at least it was in pursuit of the flangst, right? :coughmoreMirrorMirrorlikefiveminutesagopleasecough:_

_Disclaimer's hanging out in Chapter One._

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: The Enemy Walks In**

DG was certain her heart had never beat so fast within her chest; not when she'd taped her chemistry notes to the underside of her desk in a desperate—and ultimately futile—attempt to pass a mid-term, nor when the ladder had slipped out from beneath her feet as she tried to climb back in her room after sneaking out in the middle of the night.

No, this arrhythmia made the cliché that her chest was going to burst seem like an actual possibility. Pulling her hair back and ducking her head so that her dark locks wouldn't give her identity away yet, she slid down the small embankment into the trenches among the rubble and ruin in front of the tower. She crawled on her stomach until she was in the center of the platoon, and looked out over the expanse between the enemy and herself. Lit by the mid-morning suns, she felt as though she were going to be sick when she saw how many men sat on the other side of the field. _This is what they call a lose-lose situation, DG,_ she thought to herself.

Unbidden, a picture of Jeb and Wyatt Cain entered her mind, and it was as if her doubts never existed. She had her mission, and she would complete it. _Fight like hell._

She confidently situated herself behind one of the machine guns. It was practically an antique and much heavier compared to the rifle she was used to. She placed her left hand at the top of the muzzle, and put her right near the trigger, squinting one eye shut as she looked through the scope mounted to the top of the gun, trying to get a feel for the weapon.

"You'll burn your hand right off if you hold it like that, Princess," a voice said from above her, and DG looked up into the face of one of the men—_boys,_ she corrected herself—that had ushered Cain to the infirmary the day before. "Hang on to the tripod instead. You've got a good grip; you'll be able to keep her steady."

"Thank you," she said, feeling foolish that she didn't even know his name.

"Jackson," he supplied, sitting down next to her, feeding the artillery shells through the gun.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," DG replied, gulping at how efficiently he was able to load the weapon. _He's been at this his whole life. They all have._

"The honor's mine, Your Highness," Jackson replied, sitting back against the trenches. Pulling a flask from his vest, he offered it to her. "A little liquid courage might help."

DG demurred, shaking her head and focusing her attention back across the plains. She saw movement in the opposition at the same time Jackson noticed it, and he chucked the flask to his left. "Ready in the hole!" he called out, his voice strong far beyond his years.

The first shots came from beyond their trenches, and as rubble rained down on them, DG realized the opposition was trying to destroy the tower, thinking the Royal Family would be huddled inside, sacrificing nameless, faceless citizens to save their own hides.

She was horrified out of any movement at the thought that these people, once loyalists, now thought so little of her family because of a little girl exploring a cave.

"Princess!" Jackson hissed from beside her. "_Princess!"_

She snapped her head toward him, and saw fear in his eyes. "Can you do this?"

She nodded, training her weapon toward the center of the opposition forces. "Fire in the hole!" she yelled, and pulled the trigger.

The recoil of the weapon nearly sent her sprawling against the back of the trench. Instead, she spread her legs in a wide 'v' and held on to the tripod to steady both herself and the gun. Jackson fed ammunition through the side of the barrel, the acceptance and discharge of the bullets so quick that DG felt as though the entire world were vibrating beneath her. She swallowed around the fear lodged in her throat, forcing it like a block to her stomach, and kept her sights trained on the resistance's front lines.

She wasn't sure whether to be glad or disgusted when she saw one of her bullets pierce one of the opposition's foreheads.

"Nice shot, Princess," Jackson remarked from beside her.

DG did not reply, but turned her weapon to the right, taking out the end riders of the flank. Whatever she had said to her mother about being comfortable behind a weapon was now becoming the most untruthful of lies. _No one should be comfortable with this_, she thought, watching as another rider went down across from her position. _This shouldn't be easy or acceptable._

There was a great rumble from above, and she heard someone from the end of her own trench call out. "Heads up!"

She pulled her finger from the trigger and ducked beneath her hands as part of the balcony fell on her. She felt a chunk of granite gash her arm and she hissed out in pain. "Shit!"

Jackson moved the debris from around their ammunition, and then looked at her arm. "That's gonna need stitches."

"Not now. I have to be out here." She stood and ripped off a piece of her dirty shirt and handed it to her comrade. "Knot this around my arm for me. Like a tourniquet."

Jackson did as she asked, and she tilted his flask over the wound, hissing as the alcohol acted as a temporary disinfectant. Finally, she took the shot of liquid courage he'd offered, wincing as it burned her throat. _At least it thinned out the fear on its way down._

As there had been the previous day when the opposition noticed the two princesses on the balcony, there were fast spreading, rejuvenating calls among the rebel front lines when they realized that DG was in the trenches. The ground again shook beneath her as she heard their forces finally advance, trying to better their angle to take her out. _That's it,_ she urged silently, _come on over. Come on in._

She fell to her stomach as a hailstorm of gunfire erupted, and the sky blackened so much that for a moment, she thought someone was dropping a travel storm on top of her in an attempt to get her out of there. Instead, as the smell of lead and copper from the gunfire overwhelmed her senses and settled fuzzily on her tongue, she could hear more rumblings, and spared a glance toward the collapsing structure above them. The resistance had separated into two factions, one still concentrating on the loyalist army, the other focused on destroying the tower above them.

"We're gonna have to move!" Jackson called to her over the din, wincing as another piece of falling rock grazed her face.

"No way!" she replied, streaking the smear of blood cascading from her temple away from her eyes. "We're not moving until this is over."

She didn't know how long the battle raged. She didn't know how many men had been injured or killed. She didn't know how many lacerations she had on her face, neck and arms from falling debris. She just kept pulling the trigger, trying to make it as automatic as possible. Eventually, the tears in her eyes faded, and she just kept shooting, morphing the men on the other side of the trenches into tin cans in her backyard.

As the first moon started to stride its way toward the suns, she realized the time had come to implement the last part of their plan. She took a deep, cleansing breath, praying the painful, interminable hours had been long enough that her father and Glitch were able to surround the rebels. She searched through the haze for any sign of the men in charge of the detonation, but saw nothing more than tints of black desolation and red contamination. Her artist's eye knew she never wanted to see those shades ever again.

When she stopped firing suddenly, she startled Jackson, causing him to turn and look at her curiously.

"I need a grenade," she ordered, and he nodded, sending the command down the trenches like a sick, warped game of telephone. She held it gingerly in her hand when he handed it to her, knowing that throwing it could very well be the last thing she ever did.

But she had no choice. Everyone had their orders, most especially her.

"Cease fire," she ordered her comrade after placing the grenade on top of the fortified wall, not surprised when he shook his head.

"All due respect, Princess, but I can't do that."

"You must, and you will." At her insistent, narrow gaze, he stepped back from his weapon.

"Cease fire!" she called along her trenches, and disbelieving murmurs spread among the remaining men like wildfire. To Jackson, she said, "Take the wounded up to the infirmary. I'll take it from here."

"You three with me," Jackson said to the soldiers next to him. "Clear out."

They looked between princess and soldier, and DG nodded firmly at them. "Do it."

The trench emptied quickly, injured soldiers carrying the fallen men and boys who could be saved to the infirmary. They stepped over body after body as they retreated.

There was a great whoop of victory from across the field, and DG gritted her teeth. _Not so fast, assholes._

She stood in the middle of the trench, arms raised above her head, just as they had been when she traded herself for Cain. Even across the distance, she heard the rifles cocking, and knew all eyes and weapons were trained solely on her.

One small misstep could cost them everything.

So could doing nothing.

She'd promised Az she wouldn't let go again. She'd expanded her promise to include Cain and her family. She'd integrated the army in her pledge, and as she stood facing the firing squad, she vowed she wouldn't lose hold of her homeland, or any of its people, again. She may not have had the military experience to be called a commander, but this was the best leading she could ever hope to do.

She heard Garrett call out from the center of his platoon. "Are you surrendering?"

DG cupped her ear as though she couldn't hear him. "Come closer!" she yelled.

She watched as the remaining opposition riders came ever closer—to the castle, to the detonation, to their downfall— and she took another deep, stabilizing breath as she reached for the grenade. Pulling the pin, she threw it in the air.

As it rose and became parallel to the balcony, she focused her magic as best she could and detonated it where she knew her father and Glitch would see it, and sent blinding fireworks into the evening sky.

Immediately after the sparks arced out over her head, two louder explosions rocked the landscape and sent DG to her knees. The opposition fighters were trapped behind the leftover charges the Resistance had laid, and the princess could see horses and riders falling left and right, like dominoes on an unsturdy table.

_Now we've got you right where we want you,_ she thought, pushing her hands in the dirt and starting to climb back to her feet.

Before Garrett could call to retreat, she opened her mouth to call her own men to resume fire and take advantage of the tactical shift. But instead of her own words, she heard her sister's voice call out, loud and strong, from above her head.

Azkadellia's voice tried to break through the smoke and the stampeding horses, and DG craned her neck to wonder just what in the hell her sister was doing.

As the aftershocks of the explosions rolled toward the hills, Az spoke again. "On behalf of the House of Gale, I beseech you to enter into a cease-fire."

Fighters on both sides seemed too stunned to move, let alone reply. _This isn't part of the plan, Az,_ DG thought, wishing there were some sort of mind meld that would allow her to speak silently to her sister.

"We have you surrounded," Az continued. "We could very well advance and take you into custody. You could be hanged for treason against the crown." As murmurs from the opposition began to grow into disgruntled shouts, the eldest princess held up her hands. "But we will not approach. We will _not_." The last part of her sentence was directed to the dumbfounded loyalists still on the ground below, her dark eyes eventually training forcefully and directly on her sister. Then, she addressed Garrett and the opposition directly again. "The time for brute force has passed. Now is a time for diplomacy. So, on behalf of my mother, the Queen, I invite you, my countrymen, to approach and begin negotiations. We have lost too many loved ones already. We do not need to lose any more."

"We will consider your offer," the opposition leader called back after an endless, terse silence, "and will send a reply within the hour."

* * *

DG stormed into the castle, taking the stairs to the balcony two at a time. When she threw the door open, she found her parents and sister sitting on the couch, embracing.

"Would somebody like to tell me what the _fuck_ just happened?" She screamed, hands shaking in fury.

Her mother's face was proud as she stroked Az's hair. "Your sister was marvelous, wasn't she, DG?"

DG could only look between the other parties in the room, mouth agape. "What part of _this is the plan_ did I miss? And when the hell did you get discharged from the infirmary?"

Azkadellia stood and walked to her sister. "It had to end sometime, Deege. The back-and-forth, the bloodshed…you should see the infirmary, DG. There aren't enough beds, nor are there enough gravediggers to bury the lost. I had to do something."

"We had them surrounded. We finally had the upper hand!" DG sighed, running a hand through her dirty, unruly hair. "I don't understand. We could have finished them, shown them we meant business."

"We did show them that," Az replied evenly. "Tactically, we defeated them. But this isn't about army positions or showing who's stronger militarily. This is about rebuilding the O.Z. They became blind to that. I just reminded them that, at the end of the day, we all want the same thing."

"They want you _dead_. Did you forget that?" To her parents, DG cried, "How could you let her _do_ this?"

Az's hand on her arm made DG turn back to face the older woman, and made the younger princess squirm as her sister's fingers closed over her injury. "Don't be mad at them," she said, motioning to her parents with a tilt of her head. "They didn't know anything about it. I tend to do things my way, and in my own time. Reminds me a bit of someone else in this room."

DG sighed. "Az, I appreciate what you've tried to do, but they've refused to negotiate before. What makes you think they'll do it now?"

"They had the advantage before. Now that they know the tide's changed, I think they'll be more receptive." The eldest princess looked through the open doors at the opposition as they circled together, deep in discussion. "They want this to be over just as much as we do. Somebody had to break the stalemate."

"I agree," the Queen added, rising from the couch and joining her daughters. "For now, we wait." When DG opened her mouth to protest, her mother merely shook her head. "We _wait_, DG."

"Besides," Az added, trying to divert her sister's attention, "I heard from a certain blonde medic that a certain Tin Man is out of surgery and recovering."

Ahamo looked pointedly at his youngest daughter's arm. "And it looks as though you could use a doctor, too."

"I'm fine," DG replied stubbornly, and with a hint of sarcastic annoyance. "I'd just like to know if we're going to change any other parts of our plan before I leave. I like to stay on top of these things."

The Queen smiled. "We wait," she repeated. "Go to the infirmary. I'll get you when the reply comes."

Knowing she was beaten—and hating every minute of it— DG turned and left, breaking into angry, staccatoed steps as she neared the infirmary. She reached out for the doorjamb as she neared the makeshift hospital, broken, bloodied knuckles—along with her bruised heart, mind and soul—grasping blindly for something tangible as she fought to steady herself.

Steeling and pulling herself into the doorway, DG saw Ainsley working furiously to revive a blond-haired patient, and her heart stopped in her chest.

Running to the medic's side, she all but shoved the woman out of the way, eliciting a surprised squeak from the doctor. DG looked down at the man in the bed, and nearly fainted in relief when she saw it wasn't Cain. She covered her mouth, trying to keep the guilty, but thankful, half-sobs from falling from her lips. She stepped away, allowing Ainsley to go back to her patient.

"He's over there, dear," one of the nurses said to the princess, pointing to a far corner.

DG absently nodded her thanks and walked to Cain's bedside, standing at the edge of his bed. Raw was sitting next to him, hands hovering over his legs. "Bones starting to heal. Medic's work strong," the Viewer said, opening his eyes and smiling reassuringly at Cain.

The Tin Man nodded his thanks, and before addressing her, noticed the bloody tourniquet on DG's arm and the blood mixing with sweat as it trailed down her face. "What happened to _I'll be fine_?"

"Change of plans," she replied, hanging on to the bedrail. "How are you feeling?"

"Restless," Raw interjected with a smile. "Wants to go fight."

"Nothing to fight right now," DG told them. "We're in a cease-fire."

"For how long?" Cain asked after motioning between Raw and the princess with his chin, silently requesting the Viewer attend to her wound.

"We're waiting on their terms. And then we'll enter into negotiations, I guess." The princess hissed as Raw covered her arm with his paws, and then felt a warm tingle flood from her shoulder to her fingertips as he healed her. "Thank you," she said with a smile.

Her friend gathered her in a gentle hug. "Raw happy DG all right."

"Me, too," the princess replied softly. As Raw left to help the other injured parties, DG took the seat next to Cain's bed. "So."

"So," he repeated, looking her over closely. "You look like hell, Princess."

She smirked. "I feel even worse."

"You shouldn't have gone out there."

Wearily, DG rubbed at her forehead. "I have the oddest sense of déjà vu. Haven't we already done this today?"

He was quiet for a moment, and even though her hand covered her eyes, she could somehow feel his eyes trained relentlessly on her. "How'd you do it?"

She dropped her hand to look at him. "Do what?"

"Get them to stop fighting."

DG smiled. "I didn't have much to do with it. It was Az." She watched his face carefully as she continued. "And Jeb. His charges made the difference."

There was obvious pride on Cain's face, and it made the princess relax slightly as she sat in the uncomfortable chair.

She was surprised when his hand found hers again, and he ran his thumb absently, gently over her scraped knuckles. "You think this cease-fire'll stick?"

DG shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea. Everything I thought I knew, apparently, I don't."

"You're just realizing this now?"

She was too tired to glare at him. "I don't know how you did it, Cain."

"Did what?"

"Fought so hard, for so long." She looked down at their joined hands. "I was only out there for a day, and I feel…God, I don't even know _what_ I feel."

He was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. "Give it time. It's a lot to process."

She tilted her head, looking back up at him. "Since when did you get all zen?"

He sighed. "One of these days, maybe I'll understand you."

"I doubt it."

"Me, too." He smiled tiredly at her. "You're going to help have to hammer out the peace agreement."

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. "I have no idea what to do, Cain. I don't know how to be…_this._"

"Be what?"

"A princess. A diplomat." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I tried it once, and look what happened." Her voice broke on the last word, and she felt Cain's hand tighten around hers.

"They're going to try and use that to their advantage. Don't let them." His eyes were crystalline as he spoke earnestly to her. "You're a hell of a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, kiddo. You know what's right. Just stick to what's right."

She looked out the infirmary window at the clearing sky. "I wish you could come with me."

"I'll be here when you get back." She noticed when he couldn't stifle a yawn.

"I should let you rest." She made to stand, and looked back down at him when he tugged ever so slightly on her hand.

His mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, and she watched carefully as he searched for the necessary words—and perhaps a bit of courage—to voice his thoughts to her. "I'm proud of you. You did it."

She had to look out the window again, so he would not see her relieved tears as they threatened to flood her face. Something in his tone told her just how difficult those words had been to say. She turned back to thank him, but his eyes had slipped shut. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest for a moment, until she saw his breathing started to deepen.

"He needed some more painkillers before you got here," Ainsley said, coming up next to her.

"How long do you think he'll be laid up?" Her hand was still rubbing against his as he started to fall asleep, the painkillers and antibiotics lulling him into a recuperative stasis.

"Couple of days in here, and that's only if he figures out how to get out of the bindings I'll have to use to tie him to the bed," the medic replied. She, too, watched as Cain's breathing evened. "He's a bit stubborn, that one."

"You think?" DG deadpanned.

"He'll need to take it easy for a while, though, and he'll probably need some physical therapy."

DG smiled, brushing her hand along the short hair by his temple. "Oh, he'll love that."

"He spent an hour arguing with the nurse."

"Well, he won't have much of a choice if I have anything to say about it."

Ainsley offered a tired smile, rubbing the back of her neck. "Your sister's in the hall. She says they've replied."

DG looked to the doorway quickly, trying to figure out why Azkadellia hadn't come in to tell her herself.

"She panicked earlier when she saw all the blood from the downed fighters," the medic told the youngest princess, apparently reading her confusion. "I told her to take a walk."

DG chuckled. "She walked right into a peace agreement."

The medic raised her eyebrows. "Really?" Her own gaze went briefly to the doorway, hesitant but impressed interest on her own face. Turning back to DG, she said, "You should go."

DG faced Cain again, and Ainsley put a tentative, wary hand on the brunette's shoulder. "I'll take good care of him. I promise."

"I know you will," the princess replied, setting the Tin Man's hand gently on the bed. Leaning down and pressing another kiss to his cheek, she whispered tenderly against his cheek, correcting his earlier assertion. "_We_ did it." She straightened and looked at the medic before turning to leave. "Thank you, Doc."

"Good luck," Ainsley called after her.

_Something tells me I'll need it,_ DG thought.

* * *

They took the open topped armored vehicles to a neutral site in Central City after the opposition finally agreed to face-to-face negotiations. The last time she'd been there, DG had been unknown, both to herself and to the populace. This time, people lined the streets to see the reinstated Royal Family as they drove. The reactions were mostly surprised, though there were some jeers and calls for Az's head on a platter. But as they headed toward the downtown section of the city, more and more people began to cheer and applaud their approach, and calls of "Long live the Queen!" rained down as bullets had just hours before.

Though the supportive cheers warmed her and fortified her resolve again, DG still protectively ushered her mother and sister into the meeting site, wishing with all her might that Cain were there to watch her back as she looked after her family. Several soldiers, including Jackson and Ralph Emmersly, had volunteered to act as their protection detail in the Tin Man's absence. Ahamo led the way into the space, and pulled out chairs for his wife and daughters.

They waited in tense silence until Garrett Griffin and his entourage came through the same door. The Queen rose graciously and gracefully, and the opposition leader looked momentarily stunned, as though he'd half expected to be dragged directly to the gallows just for showing up.

The Queen motioned to the chairs gathered around the small table, and took her seat again, speaking only once everyone had been seated. "Mr. Griffin, let me begin by telling you how pleased I am that you've finally agreed to meet face-to-face."

Garrett cleared his throat. "I believe, Your Majesty, that Princess Az—your daughter was correct in saying we've all lost too much already."

The Queen smiled at her eldest daughter, though her smile quickly faded as Garrett continued to speak. "That being said, Your Highness, our demands have not changed. We are of the opinion that the House of Gale is not fit to rule."

DG saw her father's fist clench, and idly wondered what Cain's reaction would have been had he been present. With a barely there, but fully reassuring touch on her husband's arm, the Queen nodded at the opposition leader. "I am aware of your feelings, Mr. Griffin. But the House of Gale has ruled over the O.Z. for centuries. Transitioning from a monarchy could very well cause more harm than good, no matter how positive your intentions."

"All due respect, Your Highness," Garrett said, leaning across the table toward her, "you were easily overthrown. You disappeared, leaving the O.Z. in a state of flux and panic." He spared a glance at Az, whose eyes rested on her hands, folded primly in her lap. DG reached over and covered her sister's hand, their magic warming both of them in the obviously chilly room. "And you and I both know the people will never accept your daughters as Queen."

"Then we are in a quandary, Mr. Griffin," the Queen commented. "Because, while I am willing to extend you all necessary courtesies, we have no intention of abdicating the throne."

Garrett rose. "Then we have nothing to discuss."

Azkadellia looked up. "You think we are so far apart, Mr. Griffin, but our broken hearts beat as one. We've all lost loved ones. We've all done things we'd trade our last breath to change, mistakes that have nearly destroyed us from the inside out. We've all been trapped in the darkness. We're much more alike than you realize."

"We're far apart, ma'am, because _you_ made it that way."

"If you want to blame anyone, blame me," DG interjected angrily. "I'm the reason the witch got out and destroyed the O.Z. You want a princess swinging in the square, you can have me."

Garrett looked at her interestedly, similar to the way he'd watched her when he interrogated her days before. "What do you mean, you're the reason the witch got out?"

"DG, please," her mother begged, but the youngest princess shook her head.

"No more lies, right?" she asked the opposition leader. "Like I told you before, the witch was entombed outside of Finaqua. When I was a child, I found her prison. I'm the one who accidentally let her out. I ran away, and she possessed my sister. So if you want a scapegoat, if you want to see someone die for crimes against humanity, then here I am." She stretched her arms open wide, as if saying _come and get me._

Garrett was silent for a long, tense moment, and DG could see the surprise work over his face. "You'd sacrifice yourself as part of a peace agreement?"

"In a heartbeat," DG replied. "This has got to end. The longer we fight, the further we fall. I'll do whatever it takes."

One of the opposition delegates leaned in and whispered something in his leader's ear. Garrett nodded, and then looked between the Gale women. "We want to have a say in the rebuilding process."

"By 'we', you mean the citizenry?" the Queen asked, touching DG's elbow and urging her daughter back to her seat.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I must admit, Mr. Griffin, I am unsure how to proceed in setting up such a council. It's never been done in the O.Z."

"But it's been done on the Other Side," DG said quietly. "Countries exist with both the monarchy and parliament working in tandem."

Garrett's eyes were intense as they bored unblinkingly into DG. "Do you believe you could facilitate such an arrangement, Princess?"

"I can sure as hell try." She leaned forward. "As long as you promise to do one thing."

"I can try," the leader replied, echoing her words. The tension in her chest uncoiled; she felt his hearing her, hearing _them,_ was a minor victory. _A lot of minors can lead up to a major_, she thought briefly.

"Halt all executions. We can set up some other sort of justice. There's been enough killing."

Garrett leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering to Azkadellia briefly. "The people are going to want certain individuals dead."

"And they have every right to," Az said quietly.

DG hushed her sister with an intense glance. "Killing anybody else isn't going to bring back those who have already been lost, and it won't make up for everything we've taken. It'll only push us back."

Azkadellia watched the opposition leader carefully. "These…murders…make us inhuman, make us become things even the darkness is afraid of. I have a feeling that you know that better than most, Mr. Griffin. I don't want you to have to feel that anymore."

The opposition leader locked gazes with the eldest princess before he stood, his delegation following. "With your permission, I'd like the opportunity to discuss this further with my men."

The Queen rose as well. "Take all the time you need, sir."

The opposition bowed and left the room, the creaky wooden door catching in the grooves of the floor before hitting the doorjamb.

DG expelled a large sigh and rubbed at her forehead. "What do you think?" she asked her mother.

The Queen did not answer, but instead enveloped her daughter in a large hug.

DG stiffened at the embrace at first, and leaned back when she felt tears dropping on to her bare skin. "Mother?" she tried, the word still feeling oddly disconcerting on her tongue.

"I'm fine," her mother demurred. "Just very proud." She leaned across DG and put her hands on top of her daughters' linked fingers. "Very proud of both of you."

The silence was long and tense as they waited for the opposition to return. DG got up and began to pace the room, stopping to look out over the once shining city on the hill.

She had always had a tendency to be aimless, dead-ending herself in a meaningless job, and only applying herself halfway at most things. But now she had a chance to right the wrongs she'd helped create, and she found herself finally and faithfully steadfast in the knowledge that she, Dorothy Gale, once merely a waitress and a part-time student, could restore her homeland to its former glory.

She saw the clouds shift, and two rays of sunshine broke through on opposite sides, streaming down like spotlights and focusing their light on the meeting site. She smiled as the light blinded and warmed her, hoping it was a sign that Jeb and Adora—and everyone lost in between—approved from the afterlife.

She turned when the door creaked open, and returned protectively to her sister's side, body now stiff not of fear, but of determination. Garrett took his seat at the opposite end of the table and regarded the monarchs.

"I believe we have a deal, Your Majesties," he said, and DG's heart had never felt so light. She had to fight to keep a stupid grin from covering her face.

"On one condition," he continued.

_So much for getting off easy,_ she thought, and glanced at her mother.

Never wavering, the Queen asked, "What condition might that be, Mr. Griffin?"

"That Princess Dorothy succeed you as Queen."

End Chapter Twelve


	13. Epilogue: From the Ashes

_Author's Notes: End of the line, kids. Can you believe it? We all need a long nap after this, I think. Or a really strong drink._

_Thank you to all of you who took the time to read my longwinded rambling. I know how much time it takes to read a hundred and thirty pages of not-so-easy-to-digest flangst, and I truly do appreciate your time and effort. It means more to me than my Jerry Remy signed Wally the Green Monster. (And that's saying something.)_

_To all who have alerted/favorited this story, and especially my awesome reviewers horsewomann, FaithfulElf, Bee, Onora, Em, Stellasiren, KateCayce, Alexandra3, Lattelady, PhoenixFyre, V, SSGryffindorgirl7, Mione3, Caitiri, Sanela, neefalco, Diesa, greenriverkillerfan and deanna ashley: You have no idea how much I value your opinions and comments. Seriously, if my partner would let me, I'd tape 'em all to the fridge. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for joining me on this nutty journey. You guys have made me a better writer, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. _

_Meredith Paris, the Statler to my Waldorf: Words cannot express how much I appreciate your support, insight, humor and encouragement, and not only during the writing process. You're simply the best. _

_Padme Kenobi: I know I can always count on you, no matter what. That is the most precious gift you could ever give me. Thank you._

_One final time, to the incomparable Alamo Girl: we're pushing 60,000 words, so I'm REALLY out of stuff to say at this point. For some reason—I don't know if it's blind faith or stupidity— you pushed me off this plot/WIP cliff when I was too scared to jump, but never wavered in telling me I could fly. You were always there when I needed you, and always reassured me you'd be there to catch me when I fell. I really do owe you everything; I truly could not have done this without you. I love ya more than David loves Sara, babe. Seriously. (Now to "Home" or Disney World, whichever comes first.)_

_Disclaimer in Chapter One. _

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**Epilogue: From the Ashes**

It was a drizzly, grey day when they finally laid Jeb Cain to rest.

Though DG had insisted he be buried in the graveyard by the remnants of the Black Tower, the grounds of which were becoming a national monument to all those who had given their lives for their country, no matter their sides, Ainsley had quietly requested that they bury him next to his mother.

For once, the newly crowned Queen of the O.Z. did not argue.

The royal carriages rocked on the uneven road between Central City and the cabin by the white elm, and for a moment, the medic closed her eyes and willed herself to believe that Jeb was reaching down from the heavens above and embracing her for one last time, whispering his love for her in the breeze that filtered in and out the open windows.

When the procession came to a stop, the medic could not find her legs for a moment. When the door to her carriage opened, Wyatt Cain stood there, offering his hand. DG stood beside him, a hand on his elbow, for the Tin Man needed as much comfort and support as the medic did that day.

Some of Jeb's loyal resistance fighters had already been to the cabin and tidied the lands, removing the rusted iron maiden that once held her love for the four most horrendous days of his life. At the Queen's command, they had replaced the warped, wooden grave marker for Adora Cain with a shining headstone. Instead of Jeb's comparatively hasty handiwork, the intricate and delicate carved detail on the face of the marble gracefully identified the resting spot as Adora's, beloved mother to Jeb and precious wife to Wyatt.

A matching stone stood near the open earth, and the medic sighed as she looked into the deep hole where Jeb's casket would lay. She knelt down, ignorant of how the dirt and grass would mess her clothing, and ran her hand through the tilled earth.

"By the gods, I miss you," she murmured, pressing down into the ground as though she could reach through and touch him one last time. "But at least you'll be able to look over the cabin, and your mother. Not the way we'd intended, but then again, you never did do anything according to plan."

Ainsley rose, turning the leftover dirt in the palm of her hand. Cain slowly came to stand next to her, putting a strong, fatherly hand on her shoulder.

Neither could hold back the tears as Jeb's casket was lowered into the ground.

The medic stepped forward and knelt by the plot again, taking a handful of dirt and tossing it on top of the wood. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," she whispered, tilting her head back to let the rain mix with her tears. "I love you."

The wind replied, rustling her hair, and she tried to smile through her sobs.

When she could not stop crying, and when she could no longer move, she felt two strong hands on her arms. Raw and Glitch lifted her to her feet, and she stepped away from the small gathering, walking toward the old elm tree. She had envisioned their children swinging on a worn rope from the upper branches, Jeb pushing them higher and higher, and her scolding them from the porch that they might fall and break something.

He'd already told her what he'd say in that instance. _"Good thing their mother's a doctor, then, isn't it?"_

She walked around the tree, hands finding and tethering to the knotty bark as though it held the last remnants of a life cut far too short; as though it could center her in an upended world. As she walked around the base, she stopped to watch the other mourners.

Cain stood at the edge of the graves, DG's arm wrapped tightly around his waist. His was secured around her shoulders, and the Queen curled into him, free hand resting securely, protectively, and lovingly on his chest as she spoke softly. They were seemingly meaningless words to the Tin Man, for nothing could ease his pain.

But as he looked down at DG, their foreheads touched, and the medic saw something she had not seen in him for some time.

Hope.

He lifted DG's hand from his chest and kissed her knuckles. He pulled her tighter against him, so like his son in his inability to verbally thank her for her constant understanding and support.

So like his son in his inability to tell her how much he loved her.

The breeze blew through the medic's hair and dress again, the temperature warm in spite of the rain. "I'll tell him how to do it, Jeb," she promised.

She felt an angel's kiss on her cheek and then the rustling stopped.

She stepped away from the white elm, back toward the cabin, and both DG and Cain turned as she approached.

"I'm ready," the medic said. "We have a lot of work to do."

She could tell by the quick glance between the Queen and the Tin Man that they understood she meant more than rebuilding the O.Z.

She could tell by the way their hands linked effortlessly together, and how Cain ushered DG protectively to the carriage with a bare but steadfast brush of his free hand against the small of her back, that they understood all the hard work would be worth it in the end.

She could tell, because she paid attention.

**The End**

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_Thanks for coming. Drive safely, and don't forget to tip the muse on your way out. : )_


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